


The Gift

by attackamazon



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/M, Forced Marriage, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2015-09-12
Packaged: 2018-04-18 03:50:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 31,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4690988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/attackamazon/pseuds/attackamazon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After defeating Alduin, after bringing Skyrim's civil war to an end, Ashildr has assumed that her betrothal to Ulfric Stormcloak would be inevitable.  When politics intervenes, she finds herself betrothed anyway.  To Galmar Stone-Fist.  A reluctant love story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Marriage

Ashildr was careful to keep her face a composed mask as the gates of Riften approached, though if she had had her rathers she would have reined the horse right around and ridden off screaming into the woods until this nightmare was far, far behind her. She rode with august company, however, and so manners were required. And there would be no escape for the Dragonborn this time. 

 _How is it that I can save the world and innumerable lives along the way, and yet I can't manage to save myself from this farce of a wedding?_  she thought, bitterly.

As they waited for the gate guards to grant them entrance, she caught the eye of the priest Erandur.  He was watching her in the inscrutable way that all of the Mer seemed to have and she prickled under his red gaze.  They knew each other well after months of traveling and fighting together and she could read the expectant question in his expression well enough.   
  
_I know_ , she wanted to hiss at her former companion.   _You don't have to rub it in._

Ashildr had insisted that Erandur be the one to perform the marriage ceremony for two reasons: primarily, that it would constitute a delay while the Dunmer priest was fetched from his hermitage during which time she could continue to argue her case to Ulfric, but also because she had been absolutely sure that Erandur would refuse once he had observed the situation and that he would send word to the Riften temple as well. Although arranged marriages were common enough in both Cyrodiil and Skyrim, Mara's faithful still dictated that it must still be a free choice of the betrothed.  Anything else was an insult to the goddess. But, in the end, Erandur had considered and then he had  _agreed_ to perform the service.

"You are in no respect helpless, Dragonborn," he had explained to her bluntly when she had approached him later, fuming. "This is a small thing compared to what I've seen you face down before. You are free to refuse.  Save yourself if you feel it necessary."

But Ashildr could not save herself. Ulfric and his advisors had sewn it all up too neatly while she was otherwise occupied chasing the Legion from his borders. The marriage had been announced before she had even returned from the field.  By the time she had gotten wind of it and ridden like a madwoman back to Windhelm to register her dissent and find out what in Oblivion was going on, all of Skyrim seemed to have heard the news and it would have been a scandal on Ulfric's court to protest.

"It's for the best," Ulfric had placated benevolently as she paced his study like an angry sabre-cat. "Galmar is my right arm and you are my left. I know you've been unhappy. After what you've been through, you deserve a good life with a home and a husband and with ties to the land and the people you protect. I've named you Stormcloak - a member of my own family. Hjerim Manor here in the city will be yours.  Galmar is a good man. Consider it a gift in honor of your faithful service."

 _A gift?_  she had wanted to shriek at him in incredulity, but she had held her tongue and bit back her ire until she could taste blood.  
  
She had sworn to serve Ulfric.  She had given her word and shed blood over it.  He was the only person to whom she had ever bent a knee in her life.  That meant something more than just the usual exchange of service for gold.  If Ulfric was to become king, now was not the time to create division in his inner circle. The stability and future of Skyrim depended on him maintaining control during this most delicate of political climates and that required the Dragonborn to act in concert with his wishes.  For now.

Still, it was a shock and a presumption and it was all Ashildr could do now to prevent herself from following up on her outrage with what she had been trying to say to Ulfric for months now.   
  
_I would have married_ you _if you had asked._  
  
Nothing had ever been agreed between them.  He had never made her any promises.  He had never whispered any sweet nothings or openly courted her.  He had never even so much as kissed her for that matter, though once or twice the moment had come tantalizingly close.  But, despite long-standing principle and her better judgement, through a hundred small suggestions and lingering touches and veiled flirtations, she had gradually allowed Ulfric to gather up a fistful of her heartstrings and now Ashildr could feel herself dangling from them - a puppet cleverly wrangled into dancing to another's tune.

She was not blind to the politics that had brought this about, either. Ulfric's power needed to be concentrated as he ascended the throne. His first wife had died childless years ago and he would need an heir to succeed him as well as a queen that could help him bring the shattered country together. Ashildr could see now that she had been the obvious choice in the beginning.  She was the Dragonborn.  A legendary figure.  In the end, however, her successes had been the very thing that made a match with Ulfric impossible.  The Dragonborn had become too powerful in her own right.  He couldn't afford to be eclipsed by a wife whose legend outstripped his own.

"The people need to be aware that Ulfric rules them, not his queen," the councilors told her when they had eventually cornered her in order to, politely, reinforce that the marriage to Galmar was non-negotiable and  _would_  go on.  Even if they were forced to coercive tactics.  

Not even the Dragonborn was immune to intrigue.  There were secrets hidden in the messy process of saving the world and in her own past history that could be whispered into the right ears to make life considerably more difficult for her and others that had helped her along the way.  Though Ulfric had a sense of honor to him, there were members of his council that were far less scrupulous and far more practical about how to bring a potential rival to heel and Ashildr did not doubt for an instant that they would make good on their insinuated threats if they thought it was for the good of the country and their Jarl.  
  
"Jarl Ulfric cannot spare you from the field in order to take up the softer arts of queencraft," the had further explained.  "And we know that you have certain habits, Dragonborn. This marriage will serve to remind you of where your loyalties lay."

 _As if anything you could do would keep me from leaving if I decided to go_ , Ashildr had thought at them poisonously, feeling her back tense like a menacing beast as she had watched the men leave.

There was more to it than that, of course.  She had been merely a common mercenary before the dragon-blood had surged up inside of her and made her Dragonborn - the just-barely-legitimate daughter of a sellsword raised alongside her father's company until she was big enough to wield a sword herself.  She had been born and bred far, far beneath the halls of power that Ulfric inhabited. The "softer arts", as they said, had always eluded her.  Objectively, Ashildr had to admit that she could not see herself as Ulfric's queen, bearing babies and overseeing a royal court.

That knowledge did little to salve her wounds now, though.  And it did not mean that she appreciated being pandered off on another man to keep her away from Ulfric.  Even - and especially - to Galmar Stonefist.

Ulfric's housecarl, for his own part, had avoided her entirely since her return to Windhelm. No doubt, Ashildr thought, he was little pleased with the arrangement himself and wanted to avoid a scene.  She had had no quarrel with Galmar before this, either professionally or personally.  He was an excellent commander - better than most she had worked with over the years - and his gruffness was just what you had to expect from someone who had spent a good three-fourths of his life fighting wars. She had grown up around men like that and the bear-helmed general had a wit underneath his growling, bloody nature that she had grown to appreciate during the cold winter of the war.  However, while she found Galmar tolerable enough on the field and in the war-room, imagining having to put on a show of domestic bliss with him and share a house and a bed - and, Nine Gods above, the wifely duties that went along with that bed - made her guts twist in revulsion and panic.

As they processed into Riften, citizens lining up along the road to gawp at their future High King and the Dragonborn as they passed by on their way to the Temple of Mara, Ashildr snuck a glance at the old bear next to her.  Galmar was arrayed in his usual steel and bear hide armor, though it had all obviously been scrubbed and shined for the occasion. His expression was unreadable, set as usual into a sullen mask, and he kept his eyes trained resolutely ahead of him without a glance in her direction. 

 _You could stop this, too_ , she thought at him, vainly hoping that some small speck of those words might pass through the air into his mind.   _They won't listen to me, but Ulfric would listen to you_.

It was a false hope and she knew it.  Galmar was completely loyal to Ulfric.  He would charge headlong into Oblivion on Ulfric's orders, and no doubt the betrothal had been put to him as just such a request.  They were stuck.

A priest met them at the gates of the Temple of Mara and spoke a few words with Ulfric and Erandur, before approaching Ashildr while the others were led into the hall. He smiled, beneficently.

"Dragonborn, may I offer my most hearty congratulations? It is good to see love blooming even in this difficult time."

 _You're a fool and a utterly blind one at that_ , Ashildr boiled angrily in her mind, but forced herself to nod stiffly.

"Do you require anything before we begin the ceremony? If you need a place to change into your wedding attire . . ." he ventured, with a glance at the freshly polished surface of her dragon-plate armor and maille.

"No.  I'm dressed," she replied curtly.

Ulfric's steward had offered numerous times to have a dress commission for her, but she had refused all entreaties on that subject pointblank. 

 _By Talos' balls, if I'm going to be bartered off like a wheel of cheese, they can take me as I am - armored, armed, and all,_ she thought.  As a concession, she had suffered the accompanying servants to plait her mane of hair, as blonde as ripe wheat now that it was thoroughly washed and dried, into an intricate crown of knot work on top of her head.  The braids pulled at her scalp like tiny needles.

"Very well, then. If you'll come with me," the priest replied, nonplussed.

Gritting her teeth, her heart pounding like she was about to charge an enemy line, Ashildr ascended the stairs to the door of the Temple. After a few long moments, the light music of the flutes and gitterns filtered out from within and the priest opened the door for her.

The wedding was nothing if not well-attended she noted as she stepped into the candle-lit hall. Ulfric and his steward were in the front row of the left bank of pews, of course, as well as several other Jarls from neighboring cities. She could see her friend Ralof grinning at from her further back.  The scruffy blonde Stormcloak soldier had saved her neck on that first foul day in Skyrim.  He was the one who had talked her in to backing Ulfric to begin with.  They had fought next to each other through most of the war and it was rare that she turned down an invitation to drink with him when they were both in the city.  But Galmar, second only to Ulfric, was Ralof's idol.  He had enthusiastically congratulated her on her engagement when they had last seen each other, and so he was of no help to her now.

 _T_ _here's no dragging me off of the block this time_ , Ashildr thought wistfully.  _If only you could_.

Glancing back at the crowd once she reached the altar, she was surprised to see the Companions represented by Vilkas, Farkas, and Aela. Farkas, Divine's bless his simple heart, was clearly enjoying himself while Aela and Vilkas seemed less pleased. Vilkas had openly pursued her before the war had taken her off to more urgent things and no doubt he was disappointed to have been beaten to the punch.  Aela's expression betrayed a certain skepticism as she sized up Galmar.  The huntress was sharply observant.  She had clearly noticed something odd about the ostensibly happy couple.  Behind them were the Blades, whom Ashildr had never really expected to see again, completing the professional coterie. Other familiar faces from her travels filled the last rows, though she was slightly put off to spot Brynjolf and Delvin hanging towards the very back, smirking at her. 

 _I_ _'m done with that life,  Let it go,_  she thought at Brynjolf holding his gaze with a sharply annoyed glare for an instant. _You people are part of the reason I had to agree to this._

Brynjolf just smiled at her, as if to reply: _you'll be back._

Galmar did not so much as glance at her as she took her place beside him.  His eyes were fixed resolutely on the space in front of him as if he were standing at full attention for an inspection.  Ashildr glanced to Erandur, standing there before the shrine and regarding her with his red Dunmer gaze expectantly. 

 _You can stop this at any time_ , he seemed to say.

Ashildr clenched her jaw, glancing away furiously _._  
  
_It's not that simple anymore._

The ceremony was short, but Erandur did it full justice as he spoke solemnly about the "bonds of love" and the "union of two souls in eternal companionship". He knew that this was no marriage of love, but the Dark Elf did not read the service as an accusation. Given his own history, she knew, he was the last man in the world to reproach anyone for faithlessness to their vows.  Even so, Ashildr felt the disapproving glare of the statue of Mara behind him as if the goddess were staring right through her to inscribe the word "liar" in letters of fire on her heart the moment that her vows were completed.

"Do you, Galmar Stone-Fist, agree to be bound together in love now and forever?" the priest of Mara asked finally, turning to the big housecarl next to her. 

 _Say no, say no, say no_ , Ashildr prayed, knowing that it would be in vain.

"I do. Now and forever," Galmar replied gruffly, but clearly so there could be no question. 

It sounded like a prison sentence.  She felt her heart jump into her throat as Erandur turned next to her.

_This is a bad dream.  This isn't happening.  I'm not really going to do this._

_Am I?_  

All eyes in the congregation turned to her and she felt every single one of them boring into her back, but most especially Ulfric's.  In the deepest part of her heart, she realized that she had been sure that he would relent.  Irrationally, she had held out hope that, when all else failed, the sight of her there with Galmar would stir whatever it was that he had once felt for her and he would stop the ceremony himself and bring this travesty to an end.  
  
It had been foolish to hope, Ashildr knew, feeling her heart ache bitterly.  She was on her own.  Just as she always had been.

"Do you, Ashildr Stormcloak-" Erandur began and she could not keep herself from flinching at the new name that been given to her after her victory at Solitude. When Ulfric had first bestowed it, she had thought it was a symbol of what was to come. Disastrously, she supposed she had been right: sister rather than wife. "-agree to be bound together in love now and forever?"

A cold sweat broke out on the back of her neck, and she glanced over to see that Galmar was staring at her now, too. 

 _Are you hoping that I'll be the one to cry and run for it?_  Ashildr wondered as she gazed back at him, searching his grey eyes for anything that would tell her what was inside his head at that moment.  But Galmar's face remained stoic and unreadable, waiting to see how she would respond.

She could hear the first uneasy shifts in the crowd behind her as the silence was prolonged.  A whisper.  A glimpse of Ulfric, out of the very corner of her eye, watching her intently.

 _To hell with what he wants_ , she thought, suddenly, feeling her jaw begin to clench with anger.   _To hell with all of them._

"I . . ."

The word hung in the air.  Sweat dripped down the channel of her spine as her heart pounded.  
  
She thought about Brynjolf and Delvin there in the back of the room.  She thought about the deposed Jarl Idgrod and Jarl Balgruuf and their respective families, still captives up in Solitude.  She thought about Hadvar, the young Imperial soldier that had tried to speak up for her when she was in danger of execution.  The Dark Elves of Windhelm.  Erandur himself, her closest friend.  There was no doubt in her mind that Ulfric's advisors would make good on their threats.  She stared back at the red-eyed priest and imagined what he would look like after a band of drunken Stormcloaks with a grudge against "greyskins" just happened to get their hands on him.  
  
_When did I start caring about the collateral damage?_

"I do," Ashildr admitted, defeated, feeling the blood drain out of her face as she closed her eyes.  "Now and forever.

And it was going to bloody well feel like forever.  She was certain of it.

She stood despondently still as Galmar stepped in towards her to deposit the obligatory kiss that sealed the deal, but reflexively she turned her face slightly so that it landed on her cheek instead of her lips. The hand on her shoulder was tense and Galmar stepped back from her more quickly than was proper for a loving husband.

 _Husband_. 

 _Galmar_.

She was glad to have refused breakfast that morning.  Otherwise, Ashildr knew from the insistent leaden knot building in her stomach, she would have retched onto the floor right then and there.

~~0~~

The Black-Briar family had agreed to host the reception, which carried on until Ashildr thought she really would scream from all of the congratulations, well-wishing, and merriment that she could not share. She sat next to Galmar during the meal and could barely bring herself to look at him, although he seemed to be having the same difficulty.  They shared a mead cup, as was the charming old custom at weddings.  As much as she wanted to drink the remainder of the day into oblivion and forget what lay ahead of her that night when they were finally shoved off into a room alone together, Ashildr could not bring herself to touch it.

_Married.  Gods above._

Finally, when there was darkness outside the windows and she could stand it no longer, Ashildr muttered about a headache and slipped away early.  She snatched a bottle of Black-Briar Reserve from a sideboard for comfort as she left and trudged across the canal bridges towards Riften's finest inn, resisting the urge to make a last bolt for the gates as she went.

The Bee and Barb Inn had been booked solid for all of the wedding travelers and the Argonian innkeeper Keerava beamed in a truly horrifying fashion, displaying sharp teeth to Ashildr as she entered.

"Well, if it isn't the blushing bride. Come with me and I'll show you to your room."

It was, she observed, the best room in the inn. Ulfric had been generous in the arrangements.  The proprietors had done their best to make everything cozy, placing fresh flowers and candles around for the newlyweds. There was bread, cheese, and mead laid out.  The big bed was already invitingly turned down and Ashildr could not suppress a shudder at the thoughts that sprang to mind.

"Just let us know if you need anything," Keerava told her with a wink and then left her alone.

The cork would not come out of the bottle of mead quickly enough. Ashildr took a long draught, tipping the bottle up and then gasping as she set it down on the dresser.  She started to paw at the straps of her armor, turning her back on the big bed as she disarmed and raked her hair out of its ornamented knots.  

_I don't care if there's a ring on my finger.  That's too much to ask._

When she was stripped down to tunic and breeches, her heavy boots kicked into the corner, Ashildr collapsed onto the bed and took another pull from the bottle. Whatever Ulfric and his advisors had hoped to gain by shackling her to Galmar, they were going to be sorely disappointed. She would see to that.  The strong arm had been entirely unnecessary.  Even if she wasn't good enough for Ulfric, she would have stayed.  She kept her word.  Watching him eventually marry someone else would have been hard, but she would have done it.  She had believed in him.  Sure, she was cynical and mercenary, but Ulfric had pulled at something beneath that over the course of this last year. There  _were_  things that were worth fighting for just on principle - or maybe he had just made her a deal good enough to tempt her to into staying. Whatever the reason, this was a job she wouldn't have walked away from lightly. But now . . .

The war was won and Ulfric didn't really need her anymore. She could be off and away within the hour, find new contracts to serve and let Ulfric get on with the business of being king without her.  She had kept her side of the bargain by going through with the marriage, but it was obvious to her that Galmar didn't want her any more than she wanted him.  Best to save them both the trouble and scarper.

 _You won't_ ,  _though_ , she admitted to herself, uncomfortably.  _You'd have been off and away days ago if that's what you were going to do._  

And why hadn't she?

Ulfric, of course. 

_I'm no giggling callow maiden who should be hanging on some man's word.  What is wrong with me?_

Finally, Ashildr upended the bottle, drained the last of the mead, and set it aside.  She leaned back and closed her eyes, letting the dizzying warmth of the alcohol take effect and reflecting that she was going to need a lot more of it in order to cope with this mess.  She knew Galmar well enough to know that he would soldier through this like he did everything else.  The big housecarl would play his role.  He would expect her to play her role, too.  And that was likely going to cause problems unless they got a few things sorted out right up front.  She might be married, but she was not going to be turned into a _wife_.

At a creak in the floorboards and the sound of heavy steps in the hall outside, Ashildr's heart seized.  She scrambled quickly under the covers and turned on her side away from the door, trying to force her body to relax. She had intended to stay up until Galmar arrived and then settle the details of this unnatural arrangement so there could be no confusion, but her courage failed her at the last moment.  She didn't want to talk to him.  She didn't want to see the expression on his face when he finally looked at her, sizing up the bride that he had never wanted and was now stuck with.

The door opened and then closed again.  She heard the soft sounds of Galmar's breathing and the leathery creak of boots and armor as he approached the bed.  He paused.

 _I'm asleep_ , she thought, willing him to believe it. _I_ _'m asleep and you don't want to bother me_.   

After a moment, she heard him move away from her, snuffing out the candles and doffing his armor.  Her heartbeat raced as, finally, she felt the mattress shift and heard a grunt as Galmar sat down on the opposite side of the bed.  Ashildr closed her eyes tighter.  At any moment, she expected a heavy hand to fall on her shoulder, rousing her so that they could finish the final duty of the whole sorry affair. In the end, she heard Galmar drop his boots by the bed and then lay down.  He turned onto his side, leaving a generous space between their bodies in the big bed.

A tense few minutes passed.   Ashildr lay still, listening.  In the darkness, she could hear from Galmar's breathing that he, too, was awake and listening.  
  
_Well,_ she thought acerbically, _this has been a splendid wedding night._

_Union of two bloody souls indeed._

~~0~~

The weather had started to turn by the time the wedding party rode back to Windhelm.  The blustery breeze made conversation difficult, for which Ashildr was grateful. She had a throbbing headache, had slept poorly, and her mood had darkened progressively over the course of the day.  

Not a word had passed between her and Galmar since their vows.  She had woken early, slipped out of bed like a thief, and then hurried from the room to eat breakfast down stairs while she waited for him to come down so she could return alone for the rest of her belongings. Even though the housecarl rode at her side, he barely glanced at her and she gave him the same courtesy.

They would have to speak to each other eventually.  There was work to be done.  They were Ulfric's chief generals and they had too much common business to let the silence stretch on forever.  Neither of them seemed able or willing to break the stalemate, though.

When they arrived back in the city, the party dispersed. Ulfric and his people returned to the Palace, the guards returned to their barracks, and that left Ashildr and Galmar to go to Hjerim Manor together alone. She looked for Erandur, who had accompanied them back to Windhelm, and practically begged him to come stay with them.

"It's a long ride back to Dawnstar," she pointed out, desperately. "Stay over a few days with us.  It'll do you some good to get out of that tower for awhile, like the old days."  
  
The Dunmer smiled, sympathetically.  He knew what she was really asking.

"You'll have to sort this one out for yourself, Ashildr."  He added, relenting, "I will stay at the Candlehearth for a few days, though, in case you need, ah, 'spiritual guidance'. I suspect that this will turn out to be a blessing from Lady Mara, however much it seems like a punishment now."

Rebuffed, she turned to Galmar who was waiting for her with a stiff expression. Of course. She had the only keys to the house.

"Go on ahead," she told him, embarrassed, as she fished the key off of the ring at her belt and handed it to him.

He took it, but with a suspicious rise in his brow.

"Where will you be?"

"I," she began, pausing because she had not really formed a plan. She just didn't want to be alone with him.  Not in the cold and sober light of day.  Not yet.  Fumbling for an answer, Ashildr continued, "I forgot to tell the stable-master to have a look at my horse's back shoes. I think one is coming loose."

It was a flimsy excuse and they both knew it. She could easily have waited until later or at least sent her housecarl Calder to see to it. Instead of arguing, however, Galmar simply nodded as if this was a sufficient explanation and turned towards the manor district to the west of the Palace without looking back. She watched him go, feeling conflicted.  She knew that all of this was just as much of a chore for him as it was for her, but she hadn't yet worked out whether it was a relief that they felt the same about each other or not.

She did walk out to the stables and back, however, simply to kill time. Then, she haunted the marketplace until the evening light began to go soft and she could see the merchants packing in their wares.  She still didn't want to go home.

 _Look at me_ , Ashildr thought, disdainfully _. I've killed dragons single-handedly, and now I'm too afraid to walk into my own house and speak to my own husband._

Unfortunately, there were no dragons in need of killing to be found and so she could not delay her homecoming any longer.  She briefly entertained the idea of just retiring to the Candlehearth to get stone drunk and sleep it off, but rejected it.  She couldn't put it off forever.  And so Ashildr turned her feet towards the wealthy manor district just outside of the palace and stood staring at the warm glow of the the lanterns that lit the windows of her house before she could steel herself to walk inside.

Calder was sitting at the table just inside the door and he greeted her with an apprehensive expression when she arrived. He had not been at the wedding, having remained to see to the house while she was gone.  She recalled that, although he had heard her talk about the Stormcloak general, he had not actually met Galmar before today. She could see on the younger man's face exactly how that first meeting had gone.

"Thane. Your husband is upstairs." The tension in the word  _husband_  told her all she needed to know about it.

"Thank you, Calder," she said, and dug in her belt pouch. She handed him a handful of gold pieces and gave him a sympathetic smile. "Go buy yourself a drink on me.  I'll handle what's upstairs."

The housecarl needed no second bidding and Ashildr sighed as she trudged towards the stairs.

A great deal had been done to the manor while she was gone and she could not help but be impressed. Every room was furnished, well-lit, and hung with tapestries and other decorative touches.  It looked like a proper home now instead of a barely-lived in ghost of a house. A wedding gift from Ulfric, she recalled. The reminder of everything that had transpired galled her, but it was already done and she could not help but admit that it made for a nice change.

She found Galmar in the master bedroom just beginning the process of removing his armor. He glanced up at her as he removed his bearskin helm and set it aside.  Greying blond hair fell in sweaty locks around his shoulders and Ashildr paused in her tracks.  Had she ever seen Galmar in anything but full armor? Never, she decided and felt a distinct desire to look away.  It seemed indecent for her to see him like this.  She had always thought of him as a soldier - a commander or, in the rare moments between strategy meetings and battle, a comrade in arms.  To see that layer of him being stripped off was disconcerting.

"That housecarl of yours needs a lesson in discipline," he remarked gruffly by way of opening the conversation. "Looks to me as if he's gotten soft up here in the city."

Ashildr felt her jaw tense to bite off a scathing retort to the criticism. She swallowed it instead, because she would have to at least make an attempt to living with this man until she could figure out something else.

"I'll have a word with him," she replied, though she would do no such thing.

Calder was not the strongest or most apt with a sword of the little family of housecarls she had collected during her time in Skyrim, but he made up for it by being clever and generally decent company. With her contract with Ulfric, she spent the most time with him and it was not as if she really needed the protection herself. She cleared her throat and then went for the breach.

"There are some things we need to talk about, I think."

"What's there to talk about?" His tone was neutral, but she could see his expression grow wary.  She could see that he, too, did not want to have this conversation.  But it was necessary.

"We've fought side by side for months, but we don't really know each other.  If this is is going to work, then we need to settle some things up front."

He paused, as if he were considering her suggestion, and then began to shuck off his leather vambraces.

"Alright, then. Talk."

He was going to make this difficult.  Ashildr could already feel it. She didn't want to offend him if she could avoid it.  He had earned enough of her respect for that, at least.  But neither did she want him to have any illusions about where she stood in all of this.  Ashildr opened her mouth to speakand then closed it again, unable to find words to say exactly what she wanted to say.  Delicacy had never been her strong point. 

_I never imagined or wanted it to be you that I was married to, but now that I'm stuck with you . . . ._

"I need to know what you expect from me," she blurted out at last.

Galmar chuckled dryly and without humor as he started on the straps of his cuirass.

"What's any man expect from his wife?"

 _He's going to make me say it to his face,_ Ashildr thought, feeling her frustration building.   _He's going to make me spell it out.  Why I agreed to this farce.  Why he's stuck with me now._

Ashildr closed her eyes for a moment before trying again.

"Specifically, so I know where we stand with each other."

The big man was unphased by her attempt at diplomacy.  He shrugged.

"People have been marrying since the dawn of time.  I don't guess it'll be that hard to figure out as we go."

 _Right, then_.

"Fine," Ashildr snapped at last, unwilling to beat around the bush any longer. "I'll tell you what I think, then. This isn't what I wanted and I know it's not what you wanted either.  But here we are.  There's no reason we can't do this civilly.  As long as you respect me, I'll respect you.  I'll treat you as a husband in public; otherwise I'll try to stay out of your way.  If you go looking elsewhere for comfort, all I ask is that I don't have to hear about it.  Sound reasonable?"

Galmar said nothing, but she noticed that he tossed his cuirass aside slightly harder than was necessary. 

_Now we're getting somewhere._

"You finished?" he asked, glancing up at her as he moved on to his thick, spiked greaves.

Ashildr nodded silently, disturbed by the forced evenness of his tone, and waited for the other shoe to drop. Galmar straightened and tossed the greaves on top of his cuirass before walking past her towards the door as casually as if they had been discussing the weather.

"I don't know about you, but I could eat a horse."

Ashildr watched him go, incredulously, but he did not turn back.  His response was entirely unexpected and she didn't know what to do next.  She knew how to negotiate.  She knew how to cope with anger.  His refusal to react in either way put her seriously off balance. Eventually, she descended the stairs.  Jorleif the steward had sent them a meal from the palace kitchens as a homecoming gift, correctly guessing that the newlyweds would not be set up to cook just yet.  Despite the good food, they endured a dinner in dead silence.

This was, if possible, going to be worse than Ashildr had imagined.

~~0~~

Ulfric had granted them a few days leave from their duties to situate themselves as newlyweds and insisted that they take it.  Otherwise, Ashildr would have been back to work immediately the following day. Anything to keep from having to be alone with her husband. Galmar had ridden off with his pig of a brother to hunt in the hills to the west, which was a temporary relief, and so she occupied herself with organizing her belongings in the newly furnished rooms, stocking the larder, and going through her growing collection of arms and armor to clean and stowed them in the new armory. Galmar's belongings were delivered from the Palace around noon and she walked around the satchels and bundles of weapons and armor, trying to decide whether or not she should delve into the contents to unpack them. Eventually, Ashildr decided that he could sort them out himself later and had Calder help her move them into the armory and out of her way.

"I don't mean to pry, Thane," Calder said, grunting as he dumped the last of the load next to the wall. "It's none of my business, of course.  But, I didn't think you cared much for Galmar Stone-Fist."

She had never said as much, but Calder was perceptive and it was clear that he had picked up on her reticence about the marriage.

"He's a decent man. I don't dislike him," she told the housecarl before admitting, "This is . . . convenient.  For other people, if not really for me."

Calder nodded awkwardly and then scratched his dark brown growth of beard, embarrassed on her behalf.

"If there's anything I can do . . ."

"Just treat him as you would me, for now," Ashildr replied, shrugging, touched by the younger man's concern. "If he gives you too much trouble, let me know and I'll deal with it."

"I'm  _your_ housecarl, even so," Calder assured her, determined.  "If things go wrong -"

"I know. Thank you.  Let me handle it for now."

Galmar returned late in the day with Rolff in tow. They had had good hunting, and he handed off the field dressed carcasses of two elk to Calder.

"Make yourself useful," he rumbled to the housecarl. "Get those skinned and hung."

"I see your day was productive," Ashildr noted, making an attempt at conversation.  She still had to live with this man for the moment, after all, 

"Two elk and a bear," Galmor grunted with an accomplished smile, seemingly in a good mood for once. "Not bad."

"Your things arrived from the Palace while you were gone. I'll see about putting some dinner together," she continued and then eyed Rolff. "I assume we'll have a guest?"

"If you'll have me at your table, missus. Or I suppose I should say 'sister' now," the ugly sot replied, grinning at her like the idiot he was. 

 _No you bloody well should not_ , Ashildr wanted to snarl in return, but instead she spun around and whisked into the kitchen so that she would not feel tempted to hit him. There were few people that she truly loathed, but Rolff Stone-Fist was one of them. The drunken lout seemed to have forgotten the beating that she had given him when they had first met and she guessed that he was just about due for a reminder.

 _And he's my brother-in-law now_ , Ashildr thought, scowling to herself as she studied her larder.   _The Divines have a dreadful sense of humor._

"She's a fiery one," she heard Rolff remark to his brother as she rummaged around in the hod for kindling to stoke up the cookfire. "I bet that dragon blood makes for something special between the sheets at night, eh?"

Galmar replied, but Ashildr did not hear it as she slammed a couple of garlic cloves down on the table and chopped them unmercifully. In due time, a simple supper of roasted venison, potatoes, and grilled leaks was prepared, and she sat in relative silence while her new idiot-in-law prattled about this and that and how things were going to change for the better now that Ulfric was to be High King.

"Now those elves will see which way the wind blows," he said, triumphantly, as if he had actually been involved in the war instead of just tanking himself up on mead and wandering around the Grey Quarter shouting at people and causing a public nuisance. "And they can take those greyskins over in the slums with them."

"I think I'm in need of a walk," Ashildr announced at this declaration, rising sharply from the table.  She glance at Galmar as if he might try to stop her. He watched her, one heavy eyebrow raised, but did not interfere as she took her dishes back into the kitchen and hurried outside.

As she stormed down to the Candlehearth, she groused under her breath, venting her frustrations to the night breeze.

"Show  _him_  which way the wind blows. Daedra-cursed clod-brained fetcher.  Should have knocked his stupid head clean off his shoulders the first time."

The inn was doing brisk trade that night.  Ashildr ordered mead and told the serving maid to keep it coming, found a secluded table, and drank angrily until a familiar face approached and settled down in the chair across from her.

"Something troubles you?" Erandur asked her, sedately.  His dusky expression was placid, but she could detect the slight quirk of one corner of his mouth that told her he already knew exactly what was troubling her.  In a stranger, it would have angered her further, but Erandur knew her too well for Ashildr to be angry with him.  She grimaced.

"My brother-in-law is an idiot.  My husband is . . ." she began and trailed off, making a strangled sound in her throat. "The man I wanted tossed me off like an old shoe and I'm a damned fool for letting all of this happen to me. Misery and folly all around. Are you entertained yet?"

But the sarcastic question was unfair and she didn't mean it. Erandur had been a good companion through everything.  He had helped her through her struggle to defeat Alduin.  He was one of the few people in Skyrim that she had come to trust implicitly, largely because he acknowledged his flaws and spent his life working to repair them and because he refused to judge of others for that same reason. And, he knew her too well to be offended by the jab, still smiling as he waited for her to continue.  Ashildr sighed, relenting.

"I'm just - I don't know what to do."

"Have you spoken to him about it yet?" the priest asked sensibly.

"I've tried. It's not like it was out in the war camps.  It's harder.  I don't know how to talk to that man."

The Dunmer chuckled. "Perhaps you should try listening instead, then."

He was teasing her, leavening her mood, but he was serious as well.  Ashildr made a face, shrugged, and tossed back another mouthful of mead.

"At least we'll both be back in the field soon. Maybe being apart for a while will make it easier."

They sat in silence for a few moments as the priest studied her.

"Have you considered," Erandur began, warming to the subject, "that perhaps this is not the worst choice you could have made? That it might, in fact, be to your benefit?"

Ashildr glared at him, but she listened as he continued.

"If you remember, we spoke briefly about your family once before. You said that you worried you would end up like your father one day - disconnected from everyone and everywhere.  Living for the next fight and the next bottle of ale. Well, now you have the chance to avoid that fate.  You can make a different life for yourself.  You can make those connections. It may not be perfect, but nothing is ever perfect.  Especially marriage."

"This wasn't my choice.  I was forced into this," Ashildr began hotly, but the Dunmer's smile only broadened, his brow arching in humor.

"Were you, now? Then why aren't you half way to Hammerfell at this moment? You could have struck out before the wedding. That ring on your finger didn't come with chains. You remain free to leave at any time."

"Because," she spluttered angrily, and then took a moment to compose herself, grasping the bottle in her hand too tightly.  "They had my number, Erandur.  It was this or risk getting some people hurt.  People I care about, gods help me.  Maybe Ulfric's people would have dropped it if I had done a runner - but maybe they would have done worse out of spite.  You understand?  And anyway, I gave my word.  I finish what I start."

"You acknowledge that there is something more important than yourself," he agreed, mildly. "You've let other people make a place in your heart, whether you like it or not."

The priest gave her a significant look and sighed.

"You're a hard woman, my friend.  You've had to be in order to survive your life.  But let me tell you what it took me years to learn: love is a more persistent and irresistible force than you can imagine.  You can't fight it.  You can't negotiate with it.  It seizes you and drags you down blind alleys and twisting paths.  It empties you out until you feel that there is nothing left, only to put you back together exactly where you need to be.  Love humbles the powerful and empowers the weakest of men. And, however many battles you walk away from, Ashildr, however much you harden yourself against it, you can't survive without love.  If there's a difference between you and your father in the end, that is what it will be.  Take it from me.  Meditate on that as you come to terms with the changes in your life.  Lady Mara will reveal the truth of the matter to you when you're ready to see it."

 _I don't want to meditate on it, I just want it to go away_ , Ashildr thought, but she said nothing.  Erandur meant well enough. He might even be correct.  But, he had never been married himself.  He couldn't know what a torture it was.

"I will be leaving for Dawnstar tomorrow," he continued, gently. "If you need me, you know where I will be. You are always welcome at my sanctuary.  For any reason."

She nodded, feeling helpless anger creep into her gut once more. Life was moving on around her and she was still stuck.

By the time she dragged herself home, somewhat drunk and irritable, the house was dark and quiet. Ashildr made her way up to the bedroom as quietly as she could, half-expecting Galmar to be waiting disapprovingly, but he looked to be asleep already. She undressed sullenly and slid into bed, pulling the covers up around her and staring into the rafters while she listened to Galmar breathing until she was no longer sure if she was awake or dreaming. 

 _So, this is my life from now on_ , she thought in the twilight before sleep finally took her.  
  
If this was what love had in store for her, then maybe drinking herself into an early grave like her old man would be preferable by comparison.

~~0~~

The news had to come eventually and Ashildr had tried to steel herself for it, but the announcement that Ulfric was set to wed Jarl Elisif the Fair of Solitude caught her like a punch in the gut anyway. It made sense. It was the easiest consolidation of power.  Though, Ashildr could not help but feel sorry for the poor girl being more or less compelled to marry the man who had killed her husband. It made Ashildr's own prickly situation feel slightly less awful by comparison.

However, as plans went ahead and as the Moot approached, her restlessness grew worse. She could accept that she would never be with Ulfric and that there had never really been more between them than a passing flirtation anyway - the mildest of wartime dalliances - but she didn't want to stand by and watch him marry Elisif.  It hurt too much.  It was salt rubbed into wounds that were still raw and festered.

Nothing had improved between her and Galmar. They barely spoke to each other despite eating at the same table and sleeping in the same bed.  The only words that passed between them were what was necessary to complete their work.  While he did not seem to be angry at her specifically, Ashildr could feel that the housecarl was just as uncomfortable and frustrated with the situation as she was. She could not help but think that he would be as happy to be rid of her as she would be to be gone.

Finally, one afternoon as she made her way home after spending most of the day tracking down and dealing with a den of bandits that had set up a camp on one of the major trade roads, she made a decision. It was just too much. She couldn't do this.  She wasn't cut out for settled life or marriage.  In that, too, she was her father's daughter.  Erandur had been wrong with all his talk about love.

Ulfric would be displeased if she left, but she had won his war for him and it was more than apparent that she was no longer needed at court.  If she left now, Galmar could get on with his life without the burden of his thorny bride. He could have the house and everything in it as far as Ashildr was concerned. She didn't yet know where she would go - somewhere out of Skyrim, obviously - but anywhere had to be better than the slow torture she was experiencing here.

Calder was in the armory cleaning and sharpening his weapons when she arrived. He took one look at the expression on her face and frowned in concern.

"Is something amiss, my Thane?"

"No, everything's fine," she told him quickly, and then added, "Wait there."

Ashildr hurried up to her bedchamber and found her parchment and ink. The note she scribbled was short and to the point, outlining the barest reasons for why she had left and underscoring that they shouldn't waste their time looking for her. She didn't want to be found.  She folded it twice, sealed it, and carried it back downstairs to her bemused housecarl.

"I'm going to be leaving soon. Business.  Short notice," she lied, so that he would not ask questions. "Give that to Galmar after I've left, if you would be so kind."

"Thane-" he began to object, carefully, clearly suspecting what was about to happen, but she waved him off as she grabbed a travelling satchel and began shoving various supplies into it. There was little time if she was going to slip away unnoticed, and she needed to travel light anyway.

Ashildr had just rolled out a map and poised herself over it, considering her best route out of the province, when she heard the front door open and close. Galmar.  He was home early.  Cursing under her breath, she let the map roll shut and shoved her bag under the table with her foot.  It would have to wait until tomorrow now.

Galmar arrived at the door of the armory a few moments later, looking for her.  There was a peculiar expression on his face as his grey eyes found hers.  Hesitation.  Perhaps even embarassment?  An emotion she had never seen him display before.

"There you are," he began, carefully testing the waters.  

Ashildr turned and faced him like a caught thief facing a guardsman. The housecarl's look seemed to turn inward for a moment and then he seemed to make up his mind.  

"I've got something for you," he grunted.  "Come out here."

Frowning with confusion, she followed him out into the main hall of the house. There was a burlap wrapped package on the table and Ashildr glanced up at Galmar quizzically. He nodded to it, confirming that it was for her, and then, more shockingly, he smiled.

Carefully, Ashildr stepped forward and pulled at the lacings that bound the package together, peeling back the rough sacking. Out tumbled folds of what appeared to be soft, thick tawny-brown animal fur. She looked up at the big housecarl again, even more confused now, and then picked the folded parcel up and shook it out.

It was a bearskin cloak, well-softened and worked until the hide was almost as flexible as fabric. The pelt had been cleverly cut to allow the enormous preserved paws and claws to fall down her chest, weighting the garment so that it hung about her shoulders comfortably. An interlocking clasp of elk antler carved into the shape of a bear's head had been added at the throat. It was, in a word, beautiful.

"I know women usually like jewelry or fine clothes," Galmar explained, somewhat self-consciously. "Thought you might get more use out of this."

"It's . . ." Ashildr started, but her thoughts spun too quickly with the coincidence of the gift right as she was planning to leave. "It's beautiful."

He smiled - a real, broad smile this time - which in itself was as much of a spear shaft to the heart as the gift was.

"It's the bear Rolff and I killed on our hunting trip a few weeks ago. Big she-bear.  Beautiful animal.  I know you're not used to the winters this far north. Should serve you well this autumn when the cold sets in."

She gaped at him, her fingers tightening in the thick fur of the cloak, thoroughly unable to account for this sudden generosity and suddenly feeling deeply, deeply churlish. She looked down at the gift for a long moment and then set it down on the table. She couldn't accept it.  Not with the guilty plans of escape still fresh on her mind.  Not after these weeks of silence.

"Galmar, I'm -"

He preempted her by stepping forward and laying a somewhat awkward kiss on her forehead, stunning her into silence.  His thick hand settling briefly on her shoulder as if he were trying very hard to do this right and was not exactly sure if he was succeeding.

"You didn't ask for this," he told her, looking her full in the eyes for the first time in a very long while, "but I chose to be here.  I'm not Ulfric.  Maybe you can see fit to be happy with me anyway."

His hand trailed off of her shoulder as he headed for the stairs to remove his gear and clean up after a long day, and Ashildr watched him go.  She was as thunderstruck as if she had been slapped. 

 _He_ had _chosen_ this?

She thought back to the night that they had arrived back in the city and it dawned upon her now how her hard words must have stung if this were not merely some unpleasant duty for Galmar. Why had he never let on? 

 _Perhaps you should try listening instead_ , Erandur said in the back of her mind.

Ashildr ran her fingers through the dense brown and blonde fur of the cloak - it really was a beautiful piece of work - and then draped it around her shoulders briefly. Maybe she had been too wrapped up inside of her own thoughts, too focused on what she felt was being taken away rather than what was right in front of her face. In her anger and fear, in her outrage at Ulfric, she had never paused to give Galmar himself a chance to explain.

Turning, she climbed the stairs.  Just as she had on their first day back, she entered the bedroom as Galmar was removing his armor. Instead of waiting by the door, she moved over to him and started to help him with the buckles on his cuirass. This seemed to surprise him, but he did not object.  He allowed her to help him.  When he was down to his clothes, she lay the thick armor aside, and then she went up on her toes and kissed him, lightly, tentatively, on the lips.  She had refused him that at the wedding.  It was only fair to make up for it now.

"Thank you," she told him, sincerely, as she looked up into his scarred face and grey eyes, "And I'm sorry. Shall we start again?"

He smiled then and this time, when his huge hand curled around the back of her neck and he leaned down to kiss her, she did not pull away.


	2. The Truce

The mood in Hjerim Manor had changed considerably by the time the lanterns were lit against the coming dusk. For the first time since Rolff's visit, there had been conversation at dinner. Little enough of it to be sure - neither Ashildr nor Galmar would ever be a great conversationalist - but it was a start. Even as she made an effort to be companionable and was surprised to see Galmar reciprocate in his gruff way, Ashildr could not help but let her wary suspicion and bafflement slowly creep back in. The unexpected gift of the cloak and Galmar’s admission of his choice in the matter had shocked her out of silence and there was no going back now, but there was still too little information at hand to even begin to sort out what it all meant. 

 _Now what?_  Ashildr thought to herself anxiously once the dishes were cleared away and she was faced with the prospect of reevaluating the entire plan she had settled on just that afternoon.

It was one thing to be press-ganged into a marriage with someone who was just as miserable with the situation as she was.  It was another thing entirely to be tied down to someone who wanted to be with her. What had Galmar meant exactly when he said that he had chosen this? If he had been given a choice in the matter, why hadn't she?  

The more she thought about it, the more ambiguities sprang to mind. Was it just business?  A favor to Ulfric? Did he somehow fancy himself in love with her? If that was so, why had he never said anything before now? They had fought side by side for months through freezing cold and bloody battle.  More than once during the frenetic activity as the end of the war approached, Ashildr had found herself working though long nights with the Stormcloak general, sharing meals together, snatching a brief few minutes of sleep in the same tent before getting up to work again.  During that time, there had been moments of respite where they had talked together as, if not exactly friends, then comrades who had become comfortable with each other.  If Galmar had come to fancy himself in love or even just in lust with her, why had he waited until now and why had he not approached her first?  That kind of underhandedness and indirectness wasn't what she had come to expect of the housecarl.  And what did he stand to gain by saddling himself with the likes of her?

The questions just kept mounting and Ashildr was at a loss. She wanted to ask him and just get it over with, but she also didn’t want to upset the delicate peace that they had only just arrived at.  That kind of conversation could go in too many unpleasant directions and she was tired and still raw from news of Ulfric's impending wedding.  The last thing she wanted to talk to Galmar about was Ulfric.  However, she needed to know what had transpired behind her back - to _really_ know, not just to suspect - if she was going to go any further with any of this.

Weary from the physical and emotional exhaustion of the day, Ashildr dismissed Calder for the evening and took herself up to her bedchamber, leaving Galmar to some bits of routine repair work in the armory. She had washed off the dust and sweat of the day earlier, but she still felt less than clean.  There was no time to warm enough water for a proper bath and so she made do with a rag and a basin, scrubbing with the astringent lye soap until her skin was pink and scoured.  Her hay-colored rope of a braid was unkempt and grimy as she shook it out and scrubbed it clean, too.   At last, sitting on the edge of the big bed, clad only in a fresh tunic, Ashildr attempted to worry the knots and snags out of her wet hair with horn a comb and stared at the ghostly reflection of herself in the obsidian nighttime surface of the windowpane.

She noted the hard lines of her face and paused to trace the familiar curved silvery scar down the crooked bridge of her nose and across her left cheek.  A shield bash had once bent the nasal plate of her iron helm, breaking her nose and leaving a deep gash that had healed into an ugly souvenir of the battle. It had faded and smoothed with time, but she would have the scar for the rest of her life along with all of the other marks of battle that marred and puckered her flesh.

 _Why me?_   Ashildr thought, skeptically, trying to see herself as Galmar might see her.

She was no great beauty.  Even before the scars, she had been average-looking.  Her body was hard from fighting and months of living on field rations, not soft and supple and inviting in the way that men liked.  Not that she'd ever had much trouble finding a willing partner to share her bedroll when the inclination arose, but then the men that she had always kept company with weren't the choosy sort.  Her rough body and rougher manners had never factored into it.  She had been nothing more to them than a brief reprieve from loneliness and want, just as they had been to her, and that was how she had preferred it.  Until Ulfric had come along, anyway.  But that, too, she knew now, had been only temporary.

Was it that she was the Dragonborn?  People married for power and wealth as well as for love and sex.  Ashildr had done well for herself in Skyrim.  She owned property in each of the holds and there was enough gold in her coffers that she could live quite comfortably for a very long time without picking up a sword.  The influence of the legendary Dragonborn was undeniable.  Was that it?  Even as she entertained the idea, she dismissed it.  The Stone-Fists were an old Windhelm family.  They had roots here and wealth and influence enough that Galmar's rot-brained lout of a brother could make a public nuisance of himself day in and day out and never fear repercussion.  Galmar's position was one of service, but he was also Ulfric's closest and oldest friend.  He didn't need the prestige of Ashildr's name to accomplish anything and he had never shown the slightest regard for wealth.  
  
So, why, then?  What was it that he hoped to gain?

She heard the door open and Galmar was there when Ashildr turned.  Because of the gift, because he was trying to make this work, and because she felt guilty still, she tried to summon a smile but the gravity of her thoughts prevented all but the faintest smile from escaping. This did not seem to bother him.  As he moved over to the other side of the bed, she turned back to the window and awkwardly tried to concentrate on unmatting a particularly stubborn tangle. She felt that she should say something to break the silence - and there was no end to the questions that were roiling around inside of her like a swarm of hornets - but damned if she could find the words. For his part, Galmar sat down on the edge of the bed behind her with a grunt and began to remove his boots.

"We'll be marching to Solitude within the week," he remarked, finally, in a conversational tone. 

Only a few months ago, they had been able to speak to each other without any difficulty at all. It felt like an eternity had passed since then.  For the time being, maybe, if she thought of Galmar as a comrade in a difficult campaign rather than a husband in a difficult marriage it might make things easier. His comment only reminded her of other pains and problems, though. With her plans for immediate escape at a screeching halt, Ashildr realized that she would have to be on hand for the Moot and the wedding after all. There was just no winning.

"I'd have thought Ulfric would want the Moot held here in Windhelm at the Palace," she replied, doing her best to help maintain the conversation, though she didn't turn to look at the man who was her husband. 

It felt strange to sit on a bed together - _their_ bed - and talk.  Usually, she waited for him to go to sleep before she slipped in herself.  Ashildr remembered the weight of his hand on her shoulder and the proximity of his body as he had kissed her forehead - and the subsequent kiss on the lips later that she had owed him from their wedding day - and it made her uncomfortable and aware that she was less dressed at the moment than she would have preferred.  She dragged her thoughts back to the topic of the conversation to keep them from wandering down that dangerous path.

"Ulfric wants it done to the letter of the law so there is no dispute later. The Moot is always held in the capitol. And he can't change the capitol back to Windhelm like in the old days until he's High King," Galmar explained.  He huffed, a comment to himself.  "And he wants the wedding held before the reinstated shrine of Talos at the temple."

Ulfric's wedding.  Ashildr wondered how Elisif was coping with the news up in Solitude.  She had done a few jobs for the royal court before her contract with Ulfric and it had been obvious to Ashildr from the start that the once and future queen was in far over her head.  Without General Tullius to prop her up - the poor dead bastard - Elisif would have lost her throne long before the siege of Solitude.  Perversely, Ashildr wondered if Ulfric would be able to charm Elisif like he had charmed her, and she felt her throat constrict with a touch of anger.

She did not want to discuss that with Galmar.  The housecarl was not responsible for her problems with Ulfric.  Still, she wondered.  Galmar knew there had been an attraction, at least.  He had admitted as such.   _I'm not Ulfric,_ he had told her.  Had they planned this together somehow?  Had she become a point of tension between them?  Had Ulfric decided to let Galmar have her in order to preserve their friendship and free himself up to pursue Elisif instead?  It was exactly the sort of thing he would do.

"Seems like a waste of time to me. Everyone knows they're going to pick Ulfric already. Why bother?" Ashildr replied, feeling her spine prickling with suspicion.

"If it was up to me, there wouldn't be any of this nonsense.  Ulfric has been High King by right since the moment Dead-King Torygg drew his last breath," Galmar rumbled in agreement and then yawned deeply.

Ashildr found herself suddenly rapt at the housecarl's reflection in the window as he stood and pulled his tunic off over his head, bending to stretch stiff muscles.  Her comb lay forgotten in her hand.

Of all the things she had to complain about, Ashildr had to admit that she could have ended up with much worse for a husband. Galmar was a warrior like her, at least, and not some weakling court fop that she could snap in half as easily as killing a chicken.  He wasn't bad to look at, either, seen in this way.  His body was solid and strong-looking.  Scarred, too.  She noted the livid seams from decades of war that striped his sides and arms.  He had a sharp mind under all that muscle, too.  Ashildr had quickly developed a healthy respect for his tactical knowledge early on.  Ulfric's Stormcloaks had the reputation of being something of an unruly mob of brutes, but Galmar was different.  He was disciplined.  Patient.  Ulfric inspired the men, but it was Galmar, Ashildr knew, that had made victory possible on the ground.  She had always had an eye for men like that - tough, capable, smart.  If things had been different, if they had met under different circumstances, Ashildr wondered if it would have been Galmar rather than Ulfric who had caught her attention.  At the very least, she thought, her husband was endurable.

He noticed her noticing him then.  In the mirror-face of the window, Ashildr caught his gaze for an instant and then saw him grin slightly, his scruffy beard framing white teeth as he twisted his torso the other way, grunting as a vertibrae popped.  He was showing off for her benefit now, she realized, snapping her eyes away from the reflection in embarrassment.

"It will suit me just fine to be back out on the road," he told her, as she returned to combing.  "All of this laying up in the city makes a man fat and dulls his reflexes. I have a feeling it'll be years yet before we can hang up our swords and axes.  Can't afford to lose the edge."

The "we" in his statement threatened to wrench her thoughts back to him once again and Ashildr closed her eyes and began to gather handfuls of damp hair to re-braid for the night.  It was a task that required concentration, even though muscle-memory guided her hands.  She had done this every night of her life for as long as she could remember.  The routine was soothing.  Half-way through, however, she heard the heavy step on the wooden floor beside her and a large, warm hand slid gently onto her shoulder.  She could feel its heat through the linen tunic that separated her skin from the hand.  Flinching, her eyes snapped open and she found herself looking up into Galmar's grey eyes. There was a question mark in them that made her body tense and flutter inside disconcertingly.

Ashildr had seen enough of lust on men's faces over the years to be able to tell that this was not precisely the same thing - but close.  She could not read Galmar as easily she had been able to read the intentions of the rowdy men of the mercenary camps, but she knew what he was hinting towards now. And though she had kissed him earlier, that had been symbolic - the declaration and acceptance of truce between them. This was uncharted territory.

"You coming to bed?" he asked her, his voice lower now, but it was a different question that he really wanted the answer to.  

She felt the hand on her shoulder squeeze gently.  She felt the thumb trace a small, light circle at her collar bone, exciting the nerves there.  It felt good.  Her body responded automatically, suffusing her belly with warmth and tension, reminding her of how long it had been.  Not since she had come to Skyrim.  Not even Ulfric had touched her like this.

 _Why not?_  whispered a small, hungry voice in the back of her mind.   _He wouldn't be the first._

But before her brain could follow that train of thought any further, Ashildr felt her breath catch suddenly in fear and she jumped up, backing away as if his fingers were red hot irons.  The internal voice jeered at her.

_Do it or don't do it, but don't pretend you have something to protect._

"Not yet."  As she watched him cock his head in surprise at her reaction, she added: "It wouldn't be right."

The corner of Galmar's mouth quirked upward humorously, though the shift of his body conveyed disappointment.  He didn't move to close the distance, though, and for that she was grateful.  Her back was nearly to the wall.  She didn't want to have to push past him and cause a scene if she didn't have to.

"We are married. Doesn't get more right than that from everything I ever heard," the big housecarl joked as he attempted to ease the sudden turn of the conversation. A thought seemed to strike him then, and Galmar's features shifted to uncertainty. He continued carefully, as if feeling out the words before committing to them, "You're young, but you're not –- you must have-“

"I've done my fair share of carousing, let's just leave it at that," Ashildr interrupted quickly, saving them both the embarrassment of finishing _that_  question. She looked up at him, studying his face, letting him read hers.  "But you're not asking me for a quick tumble to ease the nerves before a battle, are you? It's different when you can't just walk away the next morning."

Galmar considered this for a moment and then he blew out a sigh of reluctant agreement and took a step back, his posture relaxing.

"Guess you have a point there."

Emboldened, Ashildr studied the big man.  Trying to discern what was on Galmar's mind was normally like trying to see what was on the other side of a mountain range, but he was as open now as she had ever seen him.  He wasn't unreasonable.  She could seize the opportunity, lay her cards on the table, and try to get some answers and closure on all of this.  It might go wrong.  It might make him angry and put them right back at the beginning.  But, she was tired of cat-footing around each other.  Maybe it was time to get it over with.

"You said earlier that you chose this," she began, watching his expression closely as she spoke.  "What does that mean?"

"Exactly what I said," Galmar replied, a slightly defensive tone rising in his voice as if the conversation were starting to slide in a direction that he would rather avoid. But Ashildr was not about to back down now that she had thrown out the gauntlet.

"But why?" she pressed, the old frustration flooding back to her too quickly.  She shook her head, frowning. "Listen, if you had a choice here, why didn't I? Was this your idea or Ulfric's or what? Why was I the last person to find out about it?”

She spat a curse under her breath, feeling that things were beginning to go awry, but unable to stop it.

“Ysmir's beard, Galmar, what am I supposed to make of this? I've been backed into a corner and I don't even know why. Just tell me, and let's have done with it.  I can't do this until I know."

More than she had wanted to say had spilled out of her mouth before she could stop it and it seemed to have struck a nerve. Galmar's expression was tight, as if he were carefully controlling his temper.   
  
_Good, we can both be angry_ , the petty part of her thought, but she knew that this was unfair.  She hadn't meant to get angry with him.  He had tried to make peace with her today.  She owed him at least the opportunity for a truce.  Embarrassed at the outburst, Ashildr looked away, but she wasn’t about to apologize again today. Not until someone explained all of this.

A long moment passed before Galmar shook his head, his expression still stern.

"You know how it works for people like us," he grunted.  "Orders come down - we don't always know why. We just do it and try not to get killed while we're at it.  This is one of those times where maybe you don't get to know. All I can tell you is that, when the decision was made, I volunteered to be the one here with you. Whatever you think about that, it's done now. Might as well make the best of it."

Rage clouded Ashildr's vision briefly. 

 _I don't get to know? After everything I've done, everything I went through up on that sodding mountain, all the killing I did on Ulfric's account, I don't get to know?_  

In that moment, it was only by great effort that she prevented herself from lashing out at the man in front of her. Maybe it wasn't his fault, but he had had a part in it, clearly.  He knew what had happened and he was refusing to tell her.  Why?  She was being stonewalled at every turn and it was infuriating.  She could feel the burning ache of a Thu'um gathering in her throat and demanding release.  Whereas Ulfric was only rumored to have Shouted men to death, Ashildr could actually do it.  Her Voice could kill as cleanly as her sword.  Galmar didn't deserve that, but it was tempting still to unleash the Shout and let it vent all of the rage and frustration in her heart on to him, whether he deserved it or not.  

Ashildr jerked her body, turning sideways and clamping her teeth together to bite off the threatening Shout.  Not here.  Not like this.  She was better than this.  Erandur had taught her that.  Closing her eyes, she concentrated on her breathing until she felt the reverberating power of the Thu'um diminish within her.  When she opened her eyes, they fixed on Galmar.  He smiled grimly, as if he understood exactly what she was struggling with.

"That's more like it. I've got your attention now. Go on, Dragonborn, if will make you feel better.  We can make the best of this or we can tear each other to pieces. It's up to you. Either way gives me a fighting chance to prove whatever it is that needs proving. I'll go to bed bloody tonight, if it means that my wife will stop pretending I don't exist."

A deathly silence followed. 

 _I owe these people nothing anymore_ , Ashildr thought, her fists clenching and unclenching unconsciously as she imagined slamming one into Galmar's bearded face with great satisfaction - except that the thought did not satisfy her as she glared up into the face of the man opposite her.   _I_ _don't need this. I should leave tonight and let the whole lot of them be damned._  

Would Galmar stand aside and let her go? She doubted it.  Her eyes flicked to her sword on the other side of the room.  Even if he let her go without a fight, she knew him too well to believe for an instant that she wouldn’t have half a regiment on her trail before the hour was out.

When another second or two ticked by and no other solution came to mind, Ashildr took a deep breath and drew herself up to her full height.  She closed her angry blue eyes and counted her heartbeats. A year earlier, she would have thrown herself into the fight without a second’s hesitation.

 _I'm not that person anymore_ , she told herself, swallowing her anger as best she could. _I'm better than that. Smarter than that. If I want to be._

"What do you want from me?" she asked finally, her own voice sounding colder to her ears than she had ever heard it before.  She could feel her anger crystalizing and deadening into a ball of ice inside of her.  Something she could purge later, like a nacreous pearl.

Galmar's shoulders relaxed just the tiniest amount and Ashildr realized that he actually had expected her to hit him. 

 _Even if I wasn't better than that, I wouldn't give him the satisfaction_ , she told herself again, gritting her teeth.

"What do I want? For you to start treating me like your husband instead of some unwanted house guest," he replied and scowled. "You don't have to fawn over me. You don’t have pretend you’re happy with all of this. But don't sidestep around me like one of those damned Thalmor with their word-games and their tricks. I'm not your enemy. If you'd stop running away from me for a minute, you'd see that."

The jab at her courage struck too deep and Ashildr felt her temper rising again, her body moving to take an aggressive step towards him instinctively as she snarled, “I _am not_ afraid of  _you._ "

As much as she had learned to rein herself in, there were limits to her endurance and she was reaching them quickly. What would Ulfric think when they walked in with bruises tomorrow? 

 _Sod what Ulfric thinks_ , Ashildr growled to herself.

"Prove it, then," Galmar shot back, his brow furrowed in a deep frown, but there was a note of triumph in his voice. Ashildr realized her misstep too late. "You killed the World-Eater, so dealing with me should be nothing, Dragonborn.  You're not afraid of me?  Then give me a month. An honest month; no more of this hiding and silence. We eat at the same table.  We sleep in the same bed. You don't go out of your way avoid me. You  _talk_  to me when you have something on your mind.  Each night before we sleep, you let me kiss you.  Just once.  Nothing else.  That's all. A month passes and you still can't stand the thought of being my wife, you can ride out those gates without all this sneaking around.  I’ll give you a good day’s head start before I break the news to Ulfric myself."

She blinked at him, feeling a skittering, prickling sense of dread run across her scalp. "You knew I was planning to leave."

"Of course.  I wasn't born yesterday. Just because you pretend I don't exist, doesn't mean I don't pay attention to you," he replied, smiling thinly. "A month, Dragonborn. Ashildr. If you're not afraid."

Glaring at him so hotly that she was surprised he didn't burst into flame, Ashildr ground her teeth and considered the offer. It was a cheap trick he was baiting her with and she knew it. She didn't believe for an instant that he would just let her go so easily without Ulfric's sanction. He was crafty and he didn't care how he won as long as he won. She couldn't blame him for that.  She was the same way.  But, she didn't like being on the other side of that equation. After everything that had been said tonight, she didn't want to back down in front of him either. And this way, at least, she could get her own back by letting Galmar take the fall when Ulfric found out she was gone.

"A month, then," Ashildr agreed, scowling. "But afterwards, I'm leaving whether you or Ulfric like it or not. I'm done being Ulfric's pet Dragonborn.  You're not a strong enough leash to keep me here, at any rate."

"We'll see about that," he replied, satisfied and grinning, and then he took a step towards her. She stepped backwards quickly, forgetting that she was right up against a wall and still primed for a fight, but he only grinned at her again. "You promised me a kiss. Backing out already?"

"You’ve had yours and more than that for the day."   She didn't think that he would try to force the issue.  Galmar had never seemed the type for that.  But anything was possible now.

"We hadn't struck the deal yet."

Technically, he was right.  Ashildr curled her lip in disgust, but in the end it would be more trouble than it was worth to refuse. It was just a kiss.  She'd put up with worse before.

With disdain, she stepped back towards him, coldly turning her cheek as if expecting to be slapped rather than kissed. Instead, Galmar ran his fingers into her hair on either side of her face, his rough palms on her cheeks, and laid a surprisingly gentle kiss on her forehead at the hairline. The humid masculine scent of his skin pricked unwantedly at the same primitive and long-ignored urge that it had aroused earlier, but Ashildr bristled back at him, determined not to be roused.  She jerked away the moment he released her, drawing a chuckle from the big housecarl.  He cast a smirk back at her as he moved around to his own side of the bed.

"Good night."

Flustered and denied any other avenue in which to vent her emotions, Ashildr shook her hair angrily out of the half-braid she had gotten started before the argument and blew out the candles furiously. In the dark, she sat down on her side of the bed and waited, hearing Galmar settle into his side.  She did not want to sleep next to him.  She wanted nothing more than go down to the Candlehearth for the night so she would not have to look at him or hear him.  But she had promised and she would not go back on her word.  One month.

Finally, when Galmar was settled, Ashildr lay down and moved as close to the edge of the bed and away from him as she could. One month of pretending and then she could leave without having to sneak away. 

 _One month and I'm done with this, and the Daedra take me if I ever trust a client again_.

~~0~~

Her initial suspicion that Galmar was going to press his advantage as far as possible did not materialize as Ashildr expected the following morning. She awoke, startled from a restless sleep by the bed shifting as he rose.  In the half-light of dawn, she stared up at him bleary-eyed and blinking as her brain tried to claw itself back into unwilling consciousness. Her dreams had been confused and painful, full of violence and fear.  With Galmar standing there looking at her, his face bathed in the thin bluish light that filtered in from the windows, she momentarily forgot why she was angry with him.

"Ulfric will want you up at the Palace this morning," he reminded her, as the particulars of last night's argument returned sourly to her thoughts. "Might as well go together and start the planning over breakfast."

After the ordeal, he was the last person that Ashildr wanted to be near, but she had promised not to avoid him for the month and - irritatingly - there was nothing in his suggestion to find fault with. Besides, she had a bone to pick with Ulfric once business was out of the way. Now that the cat was halfway out of the bag, perhaps she could coax Ulfric into finally telling her the whole story, since Galmar would not. Feeling disgruntled about it already, she rose and began to ready herself for a long day.

The walk to the Palace was mercifully a quiet one. Ashildr had expected Galmar to try and goad her into talking, but her acquiescence to simply walking with him seemed to satisfy. When they arrived, they found the Palace in a state of furious cleaning. Repairs of all kind appeared to be underway and every inch of the great hall had been scoured spotless.  In advance of Ulfric's inevitable coronation, no doubt, Ashildr thought. The long table was already set for the morning meal and they had only a few minutes to wait before Ulfric appeared. He seemed in good spirits today and pleased to see both of them there together. As they took their seats at table, Galmar at Ulfric's right-hand and Ashildr at his left across from the housecarl, she felt the bitter bile of disappointment rise in her throat again. 

 _I should never have taken that oath of loyalty_ , she scolded herself, unable to stomach anything more than a bite or two of bread.  _I should have kept my own council and just left when the job was done._

She could forgive Ulfric for leading her on. He had been embroiled in a difficult war and had needed her help, and it would hardly be the first time a wartime romance had unceremoniously deflated after the treaties were signed anyway. Truth be told, it was the ideological seduction rather than the romantic one that she resented the most. Never in her life had she allowed herself to come to believe in a client's cause before this. It was both unprofessional and dangerous. Take their gold and don't get involved in the politics; that was the rule. But, fool that she was, she had let Ulfric's conviction and his vision – and, no doubt, the handsome cut of his features – get to her.  Before she knew it, she had been fighting for Ulfric himself rather than just for his coin.  Tullius had made her a better offer to switch her allegiances there when the tide started to turn, but she’d decided to remain loyal.  And this was where loyalty had gotten her.  
  
_I should have taken the Imperial offer,_ Ashildr told herself, grumpily.   _There wouldn't have been any of this bullshit with Tullius.  I could have retired a rich woman and let the world pass me right on by._

Except that Ulfric would be dead now if she had.  And, likely, so would Galmar, Ralof, and dozens of other Stormcloaks that she had gotten to know.  The Thalmor would still be running around torturing Talos worshipers to death and the Empire would still be a crumbling shell of its former glory, raping its provinces for all they were worth in a doomed attempt to rebuild itself.

"You've been quiet this morning, Dragonborn," the Jarl said, snapping Ashildr suddenly out of her dire thoughts. She looked up to find Ulfric's gaze resting on her. His expression was mild, but she could tell that he was scrutinizing her, trying to determine what she was thinking and why and whether it was something to be concerned about. Her eyes flicked to Galmar, but he didn't look up from his plate. 

 _I wonder what you'd say if I just blurted the whole sorry mess out right here and now,_ she thought, but that would help no one.  And, angry as she still was, Galmar didn’t deserve that.

"When you've got a moment, there's something I want to talk to you about," she replied to Ulfric. Galmar looked up at that, but Ashildr refused to acknowledge his gaze. If he had something to hide, let him sweat about it. "Privately."

The Jarl glanced between his two chief generals for a moment, his pleasant expression falling slightly, before cautiously nodding.

"Of course, Dragonborn. Once we have the plans for the Moot out of the way."

The rest of the morning was spent going over the reports from the field, deciding on a route that would not take them near any of the trouble areas where remnants of Imperial forces were thought to be hiding, and putting together a sufficient force to ensure that Ulfric would be protected on the road and arrive in Solitude in suitable military splendor while leaving none of the vulnerable posts undefended. There was not a single Jarl now who would stand against him at the Moot, but the people needed to see Ulfric as a High King and a display of force was warranted.  Especially, since Solitude was still being held under marshall law to quell the chance of an uprising by Imperial loyalists and Elisif's supporters. The wedding would follow the Moot quickly, and provisions would also have to be made for a much slower and less defensible return journey as they would be laden down with civilians. In addition to the Jarls, who would be making the trip to Windhelm for the coronation, Elisif and her servants and baggage would be travelling with them as well. 

 _At least I have some hope of escaping this mess_ , Ashildr thought as she listened to Ulfric's plans for the wedding and coronation.  _Elisif doesn't even have that much of a chance._

Finally, but not before Ashildr had developed a pounding headache, Ulfric stood from where he was hunched over the map of Skyrim and stretched.

"That should be sufficient for today. Galmar, send the orders out to the appropriate commanders to get their men ready. Have Jorlief begin working out the supplies and the porters for the journey with the garrison quartermasters."  He turned to Ashildr. "And you had something you wanted to discuss with me, I believe."

Ashildr nodded, glancing at Galmar as he moved past her towards the door. Their eyes met for a moment and she noted the solemn look on his face. He gave no indication that he was angry at her for what they both knew she was about to do. It was more an expression of sufferance, as if he knew it would fall to him to pick up the pieces once it was all over with. Or perhaps that was just her sleep-deprived imagination playing tricks on her. Either way, she waited until he was out of the room and then shut the door behind him.

"That serious, then, is it?" Ulfric chuckled. A joke, but an uneasy one. 

 _What is it you think I'm about to say?_  she wondered as she turned around to face him, taking a moment to reassess the man she had risked her life to make king.  

Ulfric was still handsome.  His blue eyes were still intense, his smile still rakish.  Once upon a time, she had fallen in love with those things, but everything was different now.  From the way he held himself, she could tell that he saw her differently now, too. 

 _Are_ _you worried that this is some sad eleventh hour romantic gesture? Or are you worried that I've finally worked it all out and I'm here to revenge myself?  Is it a kiss or a knife in the back that you expect from me now?_

"I've been thinking," Ashildr said, galvanizing her voice into action with some difficulty. It had been a long while now since she had actually been alone with Ulfric, and she was suddenly reminded of that. She was angry at him. She felt betrayed by him. But, in an effect that was practically unique to Ulfric, it was the hurt of it more than her natural inclination towards anger that rose to the surface now. "There are some things I need to know before we leave for Solitude."

To his credit, Ulfric's expression did not change, but Ashildr was familiar enough with him that she knew the wheels were turning in his head, thinking three steps ahead of everything she said, formulating a plan. 

 _Just tell me the truth,_ she thought at him, tired of the game.  _That's all I want to hear_.  _Haven't I earned it?_

"If I’m able to, I’ll be happy to put your mind at ease," he replied, diplomatically. 

 _O_ _r you'll spin a good enough story to do the trick_ , she thought, noting the vagueness of the response, but that might not have been true necessarily. As far as she knew, Ulfric had never explicitly lied to her.  She had no reason, aside from his political machinations, to disbelieve what he said. Already, Ashildr regretted being here. If Ulfric had, in fact, had some sinister purpose in all of this, then he would be just as capable of lying about it. Even if he told her the truth, what could he say that would not just make it worse?

_Give me what I need to leave this place angry enough to be free from you, at least._

She braced herself.

"I want to know what happened leading up to the betrothal with Galmar," she said and continued, clarifying, before he could respond. "You told me it was a gift. Your advisors told that it was political necessity.  They were quite adamant about it. Galmar won’t tell me anything.  He seems to think that it's a state secret or something. I just want to know why – when it seems like everyone else under the sun knew about this – no one asked me what I thought about it."

"You were in the field at the time," he replied, and she shook her head to interrupt him before he continued on all too predictably.

"If that was it, you would have waited, Ulfric.  I’m not as smart as you, but I'm not that simple," she replied, invoking the familiarity of his untitled first name. He didn't exactly recoil from it, but she could sense his discomfort rise. She had moved the discussion from mere business to the personal realm and that was dangerous territory for them right now. "I’m not the politician that you are, but I do know when I've been set up. I’d have understood - well, I understand why some things just aren’t possible, I'll say that.  Fair enough.  But why the marriage?  Why Galmar?  Why all the secrecy?  What was so urgent that you couldn’t warn me ahead of time?"

She could hear the rawness creeping into her tone and looked away, embarrassed. This was already not how she had envisioned the conversation going, and she fought the urge just to tell him to forget it, that she was tired and not herself, and walk away. Judging by Ulfric's expression, there was no walking away from this now anyway. He contemplated her for too long of a moment and then he sighed as if choosing not to take offense.

"I can't really blame you for seeing a conspiracy here," he began, sympathetically. "You have a tactical mind.  Naturally, you look for connections. It could have been handled better, I agree. I forget your background sometimes. I should have prepared you for the possibility that once -- well, you're a sort of nobility now, you know. Royalty, when the coronation is out of the way, even if it's an adoptive title. That carries certain responsibilities and obligations all by itself. I'm not exempt from them either. _I_ have to marry _Elisif_ , you see."

He smiled weakly at her with more than a little chagrin. 

 _S_ _o, you're not looking forward to your wedding either,_  Ashildr thought, but willed herself not to feel sorry for him. She had already put too many of her own feelings on the table.  Manipulating feelings was Ulfric's specialty.

"My advisors told you half-truths, I’m sure. Appearances have to be considered. I can't have any rivals for my position and neither can Elisif if this peace deal is to work. It’s better if there are no loose ends for my enemies to take hold of.  However, there are some concerns.  Elisif is younger than I am and will likely outlive me. If we have no children – always a possibility – then she and you will be my closest heirs. The adoptive tie is as strong as I can make it under law. You have all the rights of precedence as if you'd been my natural sister. I have no other living family to contest the crown aside from you, if the worst should happen. Even if I leave an heir, I'm not a young man anymore and there's a fair chance that a child of mine could come to the throne very young. Someone needs to be on hand to keep Elisif in check. To be the High King that Skyrim deserves, I have to think about what's best for my people, even beyond my death."

"And marrying me off to Galmar? How does that help Skyrim?" Ashildr challenged, though she already knew with a sinking feeling that she was going to lose this argument as well. She hadn't come here to listen to a reasonable explanation. She wanted to be angry at him, to fight about it, to have something to reinforce her intention to leave.  Not this.

"I trust Galmar with my life and with all that I have. If something should happen to me, he's the best man to help you keep Elisif off of the throne and make sure that all the blood that was spilt driving out the Imperials was not in vain.  I have no doubt Elisif will try to use certain facts to her advantage, and this is the best way to protect both of us from allegations of scandal," Ulfric replied, sensibly, and his expression creased with wry humor. “It could be worse, Ashildr. Skald had made some inquiries and most of my advisors thought that he would be the ideal choice.  He's fanatically loyal.  And you would be off in Dawnstar instead of here in the court."

" _Skald_?" Ashildr exclaimed, incredulously, the immediate and visceral disgust she felt at the thought of Dawnstar's elderly prune-faced, sour-tempered Jarl as a husband overriding her other objections. Ulfric laughed at her revulsion.

"You see why I wasn't keen on telling you until something had been decided. I like you too much to subject you to that horror, but Skald's of a certain temperament himself and I wanted to put him off gently. The last thing I needed was for you to offend my staunchest supporter in a fit of pique, no matter how well deserved," he replied and then shrugged. "Besides, Galmar saved me the trouble by asking for the privilege himself."

"I bet he did," she replied, peevishly, but the energy to remain angry was fading fast and she settled for one last acerbic jab. "How much wergild did you pay him for that?"

"Is it really so hard for you to believe that the old bear might actually just like you? You two are more alike than you think," Ulfric observed, amused. He smiled at her, his real smile not the tight-lipped and composed expression of a Jarl, and Ashildr frowned, annoyed that he knew how to wrangle her so easily.  He shook his head. "At any rate, you shouldn't blame Galmar. The decision was mine in the end. I won't say I'm not envious of him.  If things had gone differently -- well, at least someone got what they wanted out of this arrangement. There's no conspiracy here, Dragonborn, just the necessities of rulership whether we like them or not. I can’t tell you all of what happened, but believe me when I say that I've spared you the worst of it. If you ever need to know, you'll find out. Pray to the Nine that that day never comes for my sake if for no other reason."

Ashildr did not know what to make of that last, ominous statement, but it was clear to her that the discussion was over. She excused herself and walked back out into the main hall feeling drained and exhausted. Galmar was talking to Jorleif nearby and she saw him look up, immediately searching her expression for clues as to what had passed between her and Ulfric. Promise or no promise, she had done all the talking she could stand to do for the day. She left the hall without comment and walked home, feeling as if her body was weighted down with lead. How long had she actually slept last night? Two hours? Three?  She hadn’t had a good night’s sleep since the wedding.  Some rest would do her good. Maybe then she could make some sense out of the quagmire that had become her life over the last few months.

Calder was there when she arrived back at Hjerim, but she waved him off and went up to her room. The bed was still rumpled from where she had forgotten to make it and, after disarming and kicking her boots off, she curled up in the mess of blankets, breathing out a deep sigh that disturbed the dust motes dancing in the narrow strip of light from the windows.  Her bed smelled like Galmar, even though he was not present.  He was in her life for good or ill now.

Ulfric was set to marry Elisif, which neither of them wanted but which was necessary to keep the peace. She had married Galmar, which Galmar had apparently wanted even if she hadn't. And somehow, if Ulfric was to be believed, this was the best case scenario for all of them. Against her better judgment – whether he deserved her trust or not – Ashildr found that she did believe him. 

 _What a milksop I've turned into_ , she thought, closing her eyes, _to be_ _affected by a little sentimental talk and a decent story._

But she was too tired even for self-loathing. A deep sense of sadness overtook her a moment before sleep did. 

 _I suppose I did get a better end of the bargain than you after all, though, Ulfric_.  _At least the person I ended up with wouldn't rather see me dead._

~~0~~

The hour was late and the moons high outside the windows by the time Galmar came home. Though Ashildr's duties were more flexible, he was Ulfric's housecarl and required to be on hand much of the time.  Now that he was no longer living at the Palace, his daily schedule had gotten more complicated.

Ashildr was sitting at the table in the main room when he arrived, using the greater light in the main hall to aid in working loose a few stubborn rivets on one of her greaves so that she could replace a strap. There was no way she could pretend that she had not seen him, a reflexive thought by now even though she had agreed not to avoid him anymore. Truth be told, Ashildr was tired of hiding anyway.  Galmar was right. There was no point in prolonging the misery.  The conversation with Ulfric earlier had taken all of the fight out of her. Now, she just wanted it to be over. To decide to leave or not leave, but to know which it was going to be and get it over with.

"You're back late," she observed, fulfilling their bargain, glancing up in acknowledgement as he closed the door behind him.

Galmar moved further into the room and removed his bear-skin helm, smoothing back his greying blond hair.  With a clear view of his expression now, she could see that he was tired, the lines on his face deeper and more prominent. It was easy to forget that Galmar was quite a bit older than she was. No one would guess his age from the way he tore across a battlefield, but the weight of years caught up with everyone after a long day. Understanding that feeling of utter mental exhaustion all too well, Ashildr decided she could afford to be charitable.

"There’s food in the kitchen.  I’ll get it for you, if you're hungry."

"There was a dispute that went on longer in the court than it should have. I ate up at the Palace," he replied, setting the helm down on the table and slipping the baldric that held his axe in place over his head to lean it against a chair. He was looking at her with a curious expression and, not knowing how to respond, she nodded and went back to worrying the rivet.

He settled onto the chair across from her with a grunt and she could feel him watching her from underneath his bushy brow.  A long moment passed.

"Did you get your questions answered this morning?"

She had been fitting the edge of a small chisel under the uneven head of the broken rivet when he spoke and then she paused. 

 _Do we have to do this again tonight?_  she wondered, but simultaneously she knew that neither of them had the energy for it.  She set down the chisel and pretended to inspect the underside of the piece of armor so she would not have to look at him.

"I guess I did," she replied, trying to appear calm. From the corner of her eyes, she saw his bearded chin tilt, shrewdly.

"Still angry?"

She considered the question.   _Am I angry? Who is there to be angry at anymore?_ She sighed.

"No. I don't like it, but I understand his reasoning.  And I understand that you just threw yourself into a breach that already needed to be filled, so I guess I can’t hold it against you either."

"But you're still planning on leaving."

She would not look up at him.  Not least because she heard the softer, questing note in the statement and it hurt something inside of her that had been bleeding for a very long time.

 _I_ _f you care about me, just say it. If you_   _don't want me to leave – for yourself and not for Ulfric – just tell me. If I'm going to break someone's heart, I should know._

She toyed with the ragged strap and frowned. She had promised to speak plainly with him. But if Galmar couldn't bring himself to say what was on his mind, either, how could she?

"I don't know. We'll see what happens."

That seemed to be enough of an answer for him. Galmar rose and circled the table. She didn't turn as he passed by her, even when he stopped next to her and laid a hand on her shoulder. The warm weight of it seemed to weigh heavier tonight, but she didn't flinch him away this time. He laid a kiss on the crown of her head, lingering for a moment when she did not resist.  She didn't want to fight tonight.  And it would solve nothing to continue this domestic war with him, bargain or no bargain.

"Don't be up too late," he told her and left it at that as he turned to climb the stairs.

Ashildr waited till he was gone and then leaned forward, pressing her face into her palms. It had been a very long time since she had cried.  So long that she couldn't even remember it.  She would not cry now, though her eyes stung and threatened, the traitors. 

 _I can't leave_ , she thought, remembering the look on Ulfric's face when he had told her it would be up to her to keep Skyrim free if he died, _but how_ _can I_ _stay?_  

She could not stay for Ulfric without it being for Galmar, too.  And Galmar deserved better than this mess.  All he had done was try to make the best of a bad situation and all she had done was thrash and struggle. Somewhere along the way over the last year, she had lost the callous self-interest that would have allowed her just to walk away from either of the men in her life with impunity. 

 _Is it really so hard for you to believe that the old bear might actually like you?_ Ulfric said again in her mind. And if that was true?  What other reason could there be?

Shivering slightly, Ashildr set her work aside, rose from the chair, and blew out the candles for the night. The house was quiet.  Somewhere up above, she could hear just the smallest of sounds as Calder turned on his mattress in his room. She crept up the stairs as silently as possible so as not to wake anyone with the noise. Galmar was just settling into bed when she arrived in their bedchamber. He watched her as she prepared for sleep, but he turned his gaze upward into the rafters as she lay down next to him. The bed creaked its protest and went still, and Ashildr stared up into the too quiet darkness as well, listening to the man next to her breath and think.

"Galmar?" she said, finally, knowing that she would be up the half the night again if she did not at least make an attempt to put some order to the swirling misery in her mind.

"Hm?" came the guttural reply. In the dim moonlight from the window, Ashildr could see the gleam of an eye as the housecarl turned his head to look at her.  The prickling outline of his bearded chin was visible in the anemic light, she could see the solid curve of his chest under the covers.

"If I stay and there was nothing between us beyond what there was back in the war camps – comrades, I mean, but sharing a bed and a table and a job – would that be enough for you?"

"No," he rumbled in response without even having to think about it, and she cringed as she understood the underlying implication.  He sighed. "But better that you stay, whatever the reason, than to wander lost."  
  
He rolled onto his side away from her and Ashildr closed her eyes, feeling the hollowness in her chest return.

_Lost._

That was an adequate term for what she was feeling.  Maybe she had always been lost.  Maybe what she was feeling now was just a realization that had taken twenty odd years to catch up to her.  That seemed appropriate somehow.

Turning her head, she looked at Galmar's broad back, noting the way that the moonlight highlighted the contours of his skin and glinted off of coarse salt-blonde hair.  She did not huddle at the edge of the bed tonight as she usually did. The warmth of his bare flesh was only an inch or so away from her own and Ashildr became acutely aware of it - of him - there so close to her that she could turn onto her side and reach out to him, wrap her arms around him if she wanted to.

 _Would it be so hard to give him that much?_  she asked herself. It wasn't as if she had anything to lose.  

But the image that was conjured in her mind's eye of his skin against hers, his breath hot on her neck in the darkness as their limbs and bodies twinned together, made her shiver and hot flash in confusing succession.  She had never been afraid of what a man could do to her - not in battle nor in bed - but thinking about Galmar in that way frightened her as no other such encounter ever had. 

 _It's different when you can't walk away_ , she remembered telling him.  
  
But this was longest that she had ever slept next to any man.  Let alone one who might have some sort of feelings for her.

Would it be so terrible, for once in her life, to let that be enough?

 


	3. The Beginning

After more than a solid month spent cooped up in the city, being out on the open road again was a joy for Ashildr despite the destination. The air was brisk and the clouds low and grey with spring's last gasp before the summer heat set in.  The weather had held through the first day and a stiff breeze on her face cleared her mind after what felt like an eternity of confinement. The column of soldiers made slow progress towards Solitude behind her.  Rather than ride along sedately with Ulfric and Galmar at the footsoldiers' pace, Ashildr had volunteered to lead the fore-riders on the road ahead to ensure a clear passage for the army and to scout out space for the night's camping. With the countryside stretching away and open around her, the jingle and squeak of horse leathers creating a steady cadence, and the jocular conversation of the soldiers in her ears, the claustrophobia of Windhelm gradually dropped away like a fever and she could breathe relief again.

It was not all easy going, however. The narrow valleys that wound through the ridges between Eastmarch and Whiterun could hide any number of foes bent on ambush and Ulfric had grown suspicious and careful since his last few experiences traveling abroad. During the distraction of the war, more than a few bandits had exploited the army's preoccupation by setting up in old guard towers and caves near the main roads and, more than once, the vanguard stumbled upon such camps and had to route them out. And, as Ashildr stood in her stirrups now, surveying the broad pastureland between foothills and forest, it seemed that the scouts had run into a covey of the unfortunate raiders and were bringing the survivors back for inspection.

Trotting her dappled grey horse up to the approaching party, Ashildr noted that the soldiers bore two prisoners between them, half-dragging them forward to push the men groaning down into the dirt of the road in front of her like cats proudly displaying their a catch of rats.

"Bastards were holed up in an old sentry tower up ahead," one of the Stormcloaks rapped out, pleased with himself, as he kicked at the nearest of the wretched prisoners. "Most of 'em went down fighting, save these two. Thought you should see this before we strung 'em up, though."

The soldier reached down and jerked one of the men up to his knees, twisted the prisoner's body to one side in order to display a bare upper arm on which a Legion tattoo was clearly visible.  The other, it was revealed, bore the same mark.  Ashildr shook her head, scowling. The winter had been hard; no doubt especially hard for the Legion as Ulfric cut off all of their supply lines one by one.  So, it was not surprising that a few legionnaires, growing desperate and hungry on bottom of the barrel rations, might have quietly slipped away from their units and turned to banditry to get by.

The two men looked lean, dirty, and ragged.  Their armor was a mish-mash of neglected Legion lorica and other mismatched pieces.  Banditry had not proved a lucrative career change, it seemed.  The younger of the two was barely old enough to have a scratchy growth of dark beard on his chin and his aquiline features marked him as an Imperial.  The elder was a Nord, weather-beaten, sandy-haired, and silent.  Both had sustained injuries, which bloodied their faces and clothes, and both looked hang-dog as they glanced up at Ashildr to find out what fate awaited them.  Only the Imperial looked afraid.

"Deserters?" she asked. Not that it made a difference. Whether they were war deserters or just bandits who happened to have once been in the Legion, Ulfric had a point to make about the security of the country under Stormcloak rule.  It would only make the killings seem that much more justified and proper if the poor sods were both bandits _and_ Imperial supporters. So, they were bound to die regardless.

The Nord looked directly up into Ashildr's face then for the first time and she felt her heart nearly jump into her throat with surprised. The features were slightly more haggard than she remembered and she couldn't recall his name, but she recognized the man as clearly as if she had seen him yesterday.  Dark blue eyes and a certain set of heavy jaw that turned the tumblers on memories that she had long tried to forget.    
  
She saw at once that the man recognized her, as well.  His expression became energized, if slightly bewildered.

"Wait, I know you," he said

One of the soldiers rapped him on the back of the head with the butt of his axe.

"'Course you know her. She's the Dragonborn. Answer the question."

"No, no, from before," the man continued, eager now as he addressed her. "You were with Braden's Black Dogs down in Hammerfell for a year, escorting caravans. You were there when those khajiit raiders chased us into the canyons.  We nearly never got the damn horses out. I remember taking a silver bracelet off of one of those cats and you won it off of me in a game of bones that night after it was all over with.  We -- you remember me – Reinn – surely?"

The Stormcloak soldiers glanced between her and the bandit with suspicious expressions for a minute, as if waiting for her to confirm or deny the accusation.

 _I do remember you,_  Ashildr thought, her heart sinking at images of the desert and that awful campaign came back to her, _but battles fought together half a dozen years ago aren't going to save you now_.

Sighing, she dismounted, glanced at the younger bandit - who was trying to make himself seem as small and inoffensive as possible - and then nodded to the soldiers.

"Take the Imperial. Make it clean.  No sense in drawing it out."

"No!" the boy whimpered, but his captor held him down.

"What about the other?" one of the Stormcloaks asked, eyeing Reinn, who was still gazing up at Ashildr with a steady and hopeful expression.

"I'll deal with him," she replied and waited till the soldiers had dragged the howling younger bandit away before she turned her attention back to Reinn.

She did remember winning that silver cuff off of him. It had been etched with a design of gamboling tigers and she had enjoyed wearing it for a time until necessity had ultimately forced her to trade it off as part of a ransom barter. Reinn had been a good sport about it, too, as she remembered.  He had made some cheeky comment about fairings for a fair woman that had made her sixteen-year old self scoff and then blush later in private.  Later, on another night and after a bottle of ale too many, there had been more.  Adhildr pushed those thoughts away. They wouldn't make her current task any easier.

"How in Oblivion did you wind up here, Reinn?" she forced herself to ask, her mouth dry.

"Ran into some trouble down south," he replied, buying time.  "Came up here for a fresh start. Ended up joining the Legion during the War - for the employment not the sentiment."

"And then?" she asked, patiently, waiting for the other shoe to drop. He grimaced, apologetically.

"Got into trouble there, too."

Ashildr sighed and shook her head at him. _What a damnable waste._

"You stupid sod."

Fear jumped into his eyes at her tone and he reached out a hand at her, though he didn't dare actually touch her.

"Ashildr - I remember your name. It hasn’t been that long.  Listen, I know how it seems, but it ain't as bad as it looks. All we did is take a bit of gold or food off a traveler now and then. No killing.  Nothing like that. Times have been hard.  You know how it is.”

His eyes had a haunted look to them that Ashildr knew all too well, but she did not flinch.  Reinn shook his head, grieved. 

“I know I've made a mess of things.  But you and me – we went through the desert together.  We're comrades.  For a night, we were more than that.  You remember?  Cut me loose, for old time’s sake, and I'll start walking and keep it up till I'm out of Skyrim completely.  I swear it, by Talos' beard.  I've learned my lesson."

"It's not that easy," Ashildr replied, feeling her heart sink and a crawling horror sweep up her spine. She nodded her head at the clutch of riders waiting not far away. "Those archers over there are Ulfric Stormcloak's. So am I, now, I guess. They don't take kindly to those who prey on the common folk and travelers.  And you, you unlucky bastard, are a Legionnaire _and_ a bandit with the misfortune to be caught right at the time they're looking to make examples. If I let you go, you'll have an arrow between your shoulder blades before you get a hundred paces away and I'll have to explain myself to Ulfric. Best I can do for you now is save you a slow death.  I’m sorry."

"Divines help me," Reinn whispered, his face paling. His body slumped, defeated.  Ashildr felt her chest constrict in unwilling pity.

 _I won't feel sorry for you_ , she thought, trying to make it true. _This is your own fault.  It has nothing to do with me._

But she could not escape the feeling that it could have easily been her.  Under very slightly different circumstances - one decision made differently years ago - she could have ended her life kneeling in mud, too.

"It's not personal, Reinn. If this were just another contract, I'd let you go and hang what the client thought about it. Things are different now. Different rules. You did this to yourself."

The man did not look up at her and, grimly, Ashildr drew her sword. It would be crueler to drag this out.  She could see the riders watching her as she paced a few steps to stand behind the kneeling former mercenary, judging the blow.  He didn’t need to see it coming.  That would only make it worse for him.  She couldn't save him, but she could give him a quick death – a soldier’s death rather than a criminal's death – at least.

"Do you want me to get a message to anyone? Anything you want sent back to your family?" she asked him and his shoulders shook with a brief, humorless laugh as he wiped a filthy hand across his scalp and face.

"There's no one left now, is there?" There was a weariness in his voice, a tremor of acceptance.  He bowed his head briefly and, after a moment, blew out a deep breath and raised his head again, squaring his shoulders.  Preparing himself.

"Just so we're square, I don't blame you for this,” he told her earnestly without turning to look at her.  “You're right.  I did this to myself. I've been on the downhill slide since those days we were with the Black Dogs. I could never seem to get my feet again after the desert.  Anyway, it was bound to happen. Just as well that it's you.  Lift a bottle for me in the next town, and don’t think ill of me."

Ashildr struck quickly to spare him the agony of waiting for the blow to fall, stabbing the broad blade of her sword into the vulnerable spot between neck and shoulder and sending it cleanly down to the heart before Reinn could draw his next breath. He died almost instantly, with only a brief and nearly soundless exclamation of breath.  She pulled her blade free and then began to clean the hot spray of blood from it, stepping back as the soldiers returned from dealing with the other bandit.

"String that up with the rest," she told them, nodding expressionlessly at the body despite the horrified tingling of self-revulsion that swept across her skin and the tiny voice screaming in the back of her brain.

With that done, she swung back up into the saddle and urged the horse quickly onward to see the place that the scouts had settled on for the night. It was not the first time that she had shed the blood of someone she had once counted a comrade, but it was the first time that it had affected her so viscerally.  It seemed to scald something inside of her that was no longer protected by the chitinous shell of indifference that a decade of killing had built up. Ashildr tried to block it from her mind. Reinn, barely remembered brother at arms and one-night lover, was dead.  It was his own stupid fault.  And there was an end to it.

Nevermind the look on his face when the realization hit that he had run through all of his second chances at last. Nevermind the ghost of her younger self living there behind his eyes - the girl she had been when she had let him charm her into his bedroll for the night, the burned out wretch that she might have become in time if she had not become the Dragonborn and part of Ulfric's court instead. Nevermind that it was the person she had become that was now forced to do him in.

Blank-faced, she oversaw the preliminaries of making camp, far enough away from the bandits' sorry remains that they could not be seen twisting in the breeze from the top of their own tower as a deterrent to any others who might set up shop there.  She kept her hands busy and waited for the rest of the column to arrive so that she could make her report and then try to drown the memory as best she could.

~~0~~

After a long day of marching, the military camp settled quickly. Ashildr made her reports, ordered an extra ration of ale for the men who had engaged the bandits that afternoon, sat quietly through a meal with Ulfric and the other officers, and then excused herself back to her tent. No one questioned it. Rest was precious when soldiers were on the march and everyone knew how a few minutes to one's self after an exhausting day of travel could be a fine thing indeed.

Inside, she stripped down, washed the sweat and dirt from her skin as well as she could with just a bowl and rag, and then - just for a moment – she reclined back on the bedroll bare-breasted and sighed with relief. The cool evening air was like a balm on her damp skin, making her feel cleaner than she was. She watched as the dim illumination of sunset outside finished fading into dusk on the walls of the tent and she closed her eyes.  Ashildr knew that she should get up and finish dressing, as Galmar would come tramping in soon enough, but it could wait another moment or two. After the events of the day, she needed this.

Ashildr had long ago developed the useful skill of dodging lines of thinking that were inconvenient to the task at hand - her work was practically impossible without it - but the coincidences of the day had gotten to her.  Now that her work was finished for the day, her thoughts pricked at her like needles and would not be dismissed. How was it that she happened to run into Reinn under those circumstances now, just when she was contemplating whether or not to leave Ulfric's service to return to mercenary work? She had been starting to remember what it was about the libertine life that had appealed to her when he had turned up out of one of the worst chapters of her past to remind her of how badly that life could go as well.

 _Poor, stupid bastard_ , she though, frowning to herself as she remembering the way that the man's shoulders had slumped in defeat there at the end.

Killing him had been the right thing to do, as it was just as likely that he'd rob the next person he saw on the road and someone else would have done it even if she had not. The law required it and he deserved it.  There was an end to it. She had done the best she could by making to clean and quick.  But, Ashildr could not help feeling like a damnable hypocrite anyway.

 _There but for luck go I._

Unless, like she planned, she set back out on the road and took up the old life again.  She wouldn't be as foolish as Reinn had been, but no mercenary ended happily unless they eventually gave it up and settled themselves down to a regular life somewhere. An anonymous and scarcely mourned grave was part of the professional bargain, a trade-off for having a cat's brazen liberty to come and go exactly as one pleased.  Just as, she supposed, being yoked to other people - like Ulfric and Galmar - through loyalty and mutual obligation was the price of belonging somewhere in the world.

Was it worth it in the end? Ashildr had given up the benefits of detachment, but she had gained in their stead a place to belong - a place in which to hang up her sword between battles, where people knew her name and were pleased to see her for her own sake. Reinn was dead and no one knew his name now or cared about his passing but Ashildr herself.

A soft, distant growl of thunder rumbled in the distance and Ashildr listened, her eyelids heavy, as the rain began to patter onto the roof of the tent above. Better to let it go for the night. She would relax just another moment longer and listen to the rain, and then she would finish dressing, put her gear in order, and --

A strangled cry erupted from Ashildr's throat as she awoke with a full-body jerk, prepared instantly to defend herself.  One moment there had been hot sand and glaring sun and the roar of battle in her ears, and now it was gone - replaced by absolute darkness as her eyes opened and her heart pounded like a trapped animal inside her chest.  The rush of blood sounded like the crash of steel and bodies in her ears and terror seized as her hand grasped in the dark for the hilt of a sword that had vanished.

Suddenly there was movement and the feel of a body threateningly close to hers.  Instinctively, Ashildr lashed out, trying to scramble away, but she was tangled in cloth.  Strong arms closed around her and pinned her own to her sides.  She twisted and fought like a trapped animal, but the grip was too strong.  It was only when she heard a familiar voice beneath the phantom roar of the battle that she had been engulfed in just seconds before that she paused, heaving.

"Ashildr, wake up."

Galmar's voice was close by her ear, low and insistent. He was behind her, she could feel the scratchy hair of his chest and beard against her bare shoulders.  His thick arms were wrapped tightly around her, to contain rather than to hurt her.  Panting, with cold sweat dripping down her face, Ashildr stopped fighting.  Galmar's voice brought the present back to her.  She was in her tent, laying on a bedroll.  She was not about to be cut down on a desert battlefield.  The smell and taste of blood and grit and sweat were only spectres, however real they seemed.

Galmar shifted a little behind her, relaxing his grip as she went still, but he did not let go of her immediately.  She felt his hands rubbing along her arms, offering comfort - something solid and physical and reassuring to anchor her in the now.

"You're safe,” he told her, too gently for a gruff old soldier. “It was a dream. Nothing's going to hurt you."

The fear faded from her slightly at that and Ashildr let her body go limp, breathing out a long ragged breath.

It had been a long while now since she had had one of the screaming night-terrors that had plagued her off and on ever since that desert campaign in her youth.  She had almost forgotten how unquestionably real they always seemed, how vivid the colors and smells and sounds were and how desperate the sense of mortal danger and berserk rage. She could still taste the grit of sand and the metallic tang of blood in her mouth.  She could smell the nauseating stench of death as if it had all happened yesterday.  That, at least, had happened yesterday.  Reinn's face before he died, super-imposed upon the memory of his living face in the light of a campfire years ago.  The horror of it made her cringe and shiver harder. 

She felt the arms around her squeeze tighter  just for a second, a bearded chin leaning against the back her neck reassuringly.  She was not alone.  At any other time, Ashildr would have shrugged Galmar off with a curse, but the housecarl's broad chest felt like a shield at her back and she did not want to give up that protection. She lay in the dark, quaking with unused adrenaline as her breathing returned to normal.

"You alright?" he asked her, at last.

She had never heard Galmar speak to anyone like this before and it humbled her.  In the face of his concern, she could not find the energy or the desire to snarl at him as she would have done before now.

"Yes," Ashildr replied, though she was still quivering and her own voice sounded thin to her, barely more than a hoarse whisper.

"The war?"

"No."  She drew in and exhaled a deep breath, closing her eyes again. "Another fight from years ago. I'm sorry I woke you."

He grunted, dismissing her apology, and then added more hesitantly, as if confessing an awkward truth.

"I still dream of the Great War myself. Happens to all of us sometimes, I think. Nothing to be ashamed of."

The heavy rain, audible now that Ashildr could hear something other than her own heart and the screams of men and horses from her dream, thrummed a regular cadence on the roof of the tent and she shifted slightly, her fingers searching for the rumpled wool blanket as if to assure herself that everything was indeed fine and she was safe in bed. It was then that she realized, noticing the soft friction of her bare skin moving under Galmar's calloused hand, that she had fallen dead asleep before she had managed to finish dressing.  She was bare from the waist up. A hot, furious blush suffused her face and, cursing mentally, she snatched the edge of the blanket up to cover herself and tried to remember where, in the dark tent, she had draped her tunic.

"I didn't look too closely when I came in," Galmar rumbled, a slight chuckle in his gruff voice as he guessed her concern.  He drew away, assured now that she was really alright.

Her skin was suddenly cold without him there.  The feeling of empty space seemed to press dangerously now at her back. Ashildr considered getting up to find the tunic, but it could be anywhere in the tent and she felt that she had already caused enough of a disturbance for one night. And, irrationally, she did not want to leave the relative safety of the bedroll and Galmar. Being used to little or no bodily privacy for most of her life, she supposed that it could wait til morning now. It wasn't as if there was anything to be seen now that Galmar would not have seen already when he entered the tent.

As Ashildr settled back down, though, she remembered Galmar's arms around her like armor, his voice assuring her that she was safe, and found that she ached to have it back. Just for now. Just for tonight. The feeling made her anxious, but the thought would not leave her and so she turned a little in the darkness, forcing her voice to cooperate despite her misgivings.

"It's cold, with the rain," she said, hesitantly.  Galmar shifted in the dark slightly, listening. "Do you want to huddle up a little more for the warmth?"

It seemed to take him a moment to understand what she was asking, but then Ashildr heard him move behind her and felt the warmth of his skin return.  His large hand moved onto her side as she scooted back against him slightly, pulling the cover up over them both, and then she felt his arm slip down around her waist to a more comfortable position. There was a difference in the touch this time as his hand brushed across her naked belly, though she could not have defined it with words.  It made some tiny, primitive place in the back of her brain tingle and warm. A confusing feeling, one that made her want to escape the half-embrace and turn to press her face against his solid chest at the same time.  Both danger and safety at once.

 But it _was_ warmer.  And it made her feel a little less vulnerable to the horror that still stalked the edges of her mind. Within a few moments, Galmar's breathing slowed and became steady and soft, like a metronome behind her.  Listening, Ashildr felt herself relax.  Lulled by the rhythm and the warmth of his body there against her, she gradually slipped into the antechamber of sleep again.  This time no dreams disturbed her.

~~0~~

The next few days were busy ones and there was little time between work and sleep for Ashildr to bring up what had happened between her and Galmar, nor was she entirely sure that she wanted to. The column stopped in Whiterun briefly to collect the retinue of the new Jarl of the hold and allow Ulfric to survey with satisfaction the city that he had captured from his old rival Balgruuf. What would happen to the former Jarl now remained to be seen, but Ashildr had bargained her marriage in part for his and his family's safety and so it seemed likely that they would be left in peace. For all of his faults in judgement, Balgruuf hadn’t struck her as deserving the chopping block.

The weather remained damp and rainy and Ashildr found herself continuing to curl close to Galmar in the night, sharing his warmth and reciprocating with hers. She told herself that it was simply to ward against the chill, and the tent was smaller than their usual accomodations anyway, but she knew that it was more than that. The appearance of Reinn and the subsequent nightmare had rattled her more than she could admit, and Galmar was a solid and comforting presence in the night, reminding her that she was safe.

For his part, Galmar said nothing of it.  He accommodated her.  He did not push for more when she was in his arms than the nightly embrace and the single kiss she had promised him.  Though, she could feel the way his body reacted to her - and, embarrassingly, the way hers had begun to react to him.  The changes did not stop there.  Galmar was no less brusque during the day, but Ashildr observed that he smiled more, especially when she happened to catch his eye.  He moved around her with greater ease, as if he had dropped a heavy weight from his shoulders, and she heard him joke with Ulfric as they must have done when they were younger men with less to worry about.

Ulfric, too, seemed more energized the closer they drew to Solitude and the Moot, as if affected by his old friend's mood. Whether the change in Galmar had anything to do with her or whether it was simply a factor of the fresh air and the end of a long campaign in sight, Ashildr could not be certain.  She found herself increasingly infected by it, too.  Whether it was the memory of his voice in the darkness, comforting her in a moment of fear, or if it was simply that they had fallen back into the more comfortable routine of soldiers on the move, she and Galmar had reached a détente in the marital tension.  His presence in her life no longer felt like an imposition.  The old patterns that they had developed back in the war camps reasserted themselves again, and she felt herself begin to enjoy the old bear's company once more.

Everything was not the same as it had been, though.  For as much as Ashildr had begun to remember what she had liked about the housecarl, she felt shy around him in other ways.  Six months before, she would not have been bothered by the accident of Galmar seeing her breasts exposed, but the marriage and its implications had changed that.  He had seen more of her than she had wanted him to see, both of her body and her inner self.  He had seen her vulnerable and exposed and, though he had done nothing to use this against her, she could not help but feel that he had achieved some sort of advantage over her. And, in her experience, it was only a matter of time before that advantaged was pressed.  
  
To complicate matters, Ashildr wasn't even certain that she would refuse if he did try to press his gains.  In the night, as she lay next to him, sometimes even twined up in his arms as they slept, she felt his body solid against hers and felt a heat rise into her belly and electrify her spine.  Sometimes, when she saw him going about his business in the daytime, she wondered what it would be like to kiss him, to roll over in the night to press her lips and her hands to his face and flesh.  It was mortifying.  She had become irrevocably conscious of Galmar as a man now, rather than as a soldier or a problem to be solved.  And worse still, a man that she found desirable.

He was not good-looking in the conventional sense like Ulfric, nor did he have the advantage of youth.  He was battered from years of hard fighting, his body hardened and scarred.  Ashildr had grown up around men like that.  She was like that.  She knew what it meant to carry scars and she liked that Galmar wore his as marks of pride instead of shame.  She appreciated the strength implied by his body and the prowess that had allowed him to survive all of these years.  In her eyes, the surly set of his features became evidence of an unbreakable character rather than a sulk, as if he could face down a Legion by himself without blinking. He was a warrior grown into his prime, as dangerous for the knowledge between his ears as for the strength of his body, and now that Ashildr had seen him in this light she found it impossible to unsee it.

And so, as they reached the crumpled, rocky land between the karst spires of the Reach and the spinal ridge of the northern headland that sloped uphill towards Solitude, and when they had made camp after a full day of marching in the rain, it was with no small amount of discomfort that Ashildr found herself alone with Galmar in their tent for the evening with little to do but wait.

"It’s still pissing down out there," she announced as she entered the tent and shucked off her cloak, folding it inside-out to keep the wet wool contained. Galmar was crouched to one side of the small officer's tent, taking the opportunity to oil his weapons and the steel bands of his armor against the dampness.

"Does this for a few days in the spring up here every year," he replied, unconcerned. "We're only a day or two from Solitude, though. With luck, it should stop raining just about the time we get there."

Ashildr glanced up at him, acknowledging the joke with a brief smirk as she crouched down and rooted in the sack for the rations she had retrieved from the camp stewards. It was too wet for the stewards to get a decent fire started, so it would be iron rations for the column, from Ulfric himself down to the lowest ranking footsoldier. She laid out pieces of hard bread, two lumps of yellow cheese, two curls of salted beef, and a pair of apples. There was a large clay bottle of ale to share between them.

Outside the still open flap of the tent, the drizzle continued, turning the field they had camped in and the road beyond to mud. The damp air chilled her and Ashildr went to fasten the flap, nodding sympathetically outside at the soldiers who had had the bad luck to draw guard duty on Ulfric's tent as she did so.

"At least it's not snow," she remarked conversationally, as she settled back down to hack the bread and cheese into pieces with her belt dagger. "Much as I prefer roughing it in the field to court life, I hope Ulfric will decide to schedule his next war when it’s warm."

"You don't miss jostling around a brazier with a dozen other brutes for enough warmth to thaw the frost out of your eyebrows? The long marches through knee-deep snow?  Bolting your ale and bread every night before it freezes solid? That's what makes a real Nord feel alive," Galmar teased, grinning at her.

"Well, I bred true to that Nord stubbornness, I guess. My ancestors were sensible enough to move down to the warm south and here I am, ruining their efforts by settling down in the frozen north again.”

"If stubbornness goes along with Nord blood, then I’d wager you have a pedigree finer than the Emperor’s own stallions, Dragonborn."  
  
Ashildr chucked an apple at Galmar with pretend temper and he caught it easily, grinning at her as he crunched into the firm fruit.  She was reminded of how things had been during the war. It was harder to be taciturn and angry with someone who you might die next to at any time and whose life depended on you as much as yours depended on them. She missed that.  She had liked Galmar then.  For the most part, she had trusted him then. Where had that gone?

As he munched on the apple, Galmar set his work aside and studied her, raising an eyebrow at her meaningfully.  

"So, you're thinking of staying on after all then?"

It was a dangerous question and Ashildr felt her former inclination to loosen up a little slam shut again. She tore a large bite out of her salted meat and chewed it to give herself time to think. She had not really made a conscious decision to stay, but then she realized then that she had not given any further thought as to where she would go either. Whenever she had left a contract in the past, she had always known what the next step would be, but she could not settle her mind enough to make a plan this time. It was just complacency, she had told herself, a reluctance to leave what was turning out to be a lucrative job or maybe just mental laziness at having to go through the effort of pulling up stakes and finding a new contract.  That was a lie, though, and she knew it.  The real reasons were more complicated, and she didn't want to admit them to herself.  Not yet.

"A little under two weeks to go still," she replied, shrugging to make the reply seem more casual and offhand than she felt, and then tried to turn it towards humor with a wry grin of her own. "Unless you've finally come to the realization that I'm more trouble than I'm worth.  Want to call it quits?"

Galmar chuckled at that.

"You'll not get out of our bargain that easily, Dragonborn."

He set the core of the apple aside and reached for the bottle of ale, taking a pull of it before passing it to her.

"I like a little trouble in my life. Keeps a man on his toes," he rumbled as he reclined sideways onto one elbow, stretching out along the back wall of the tent.  He picked at the bread and cheese, regarding her with a frankly appraising look.

Galmar seemed to like whatever it was he saw. In the lantern light, his grey eyes gleamed like silver or brightly polished steel.  Ashildr felt a warmth suffuse the skin of her neck and cheeks, though whether it was from his gaze or from the ale she could not be sure.  He continued.

"That's what makes the world worth living in. Mead is never sweeter than when it's drunk after a battle. Venison never tastes as good as after a long hunt. And there's no woman so worth the trouble of winning as the one willing to fight you tooth and nail to get her own way."

For a moment, the only sound was the constant drumming of rain drops on canvas and the slurry of camp noises outside. Ashildr stared, surprised at the sudden audacity of the statement, but Galmar just smiled at her, entirely unrepentant. It was the first time that he had ever made such a nakedly suggestive comment to her. She should growl at him a little for that, push him away, but she could not summon the words or the will to do so.

On the one hand, she desperately did not want to have this discussion in a tent in the middle of nowhere with the rain pouring down around them.  There was no room to fight and nowhere else to go if things took a bad turn, as was their wont. On the other hand - and, oh, how she hated to admit it even as she felt the thrill of it in her spine - Ashildr found herself responding to the way he was looking at her, to the suggestion in his words.  In the end, she was the one who looked away, tearing another piece off of the stale bread.

"And you think you're the man to win me, then, do you?"

"You and I were forged on the same anvil," he told her, confidently.  "Steel sharpens steel. I think you need what I can give you as much as I want what you can give me."

And there it was.  Ashildr narrowed her eyes at the big man across from her.  She had a good idea of where this was going now, and this would have been the moment when any suitor, looking to get a leg over on her, would have made his play.  
  
_Let him try it_ , she thought, as she responded.

"And what's that?"

"A home," Galmar answered, unexpectedly. "Somewhere to go when the fighting's over.  Something worth getting up and fighting for again. Someone to be there at the end of the day and in the dark at night."

The words struck her like a slap to the face and Ashildr felt herself flinch slight as if she had indeed been struck.  Her back straightened like a spear shaft.  Her skin prickled.  He couldn’t know how those words would affect her.  She had confessed her secret fear – that she would end her life alone on some battlefield, a burned out wreck of a being, as her father had done – only to the priest Erandur.  Galmar could not know about the tangible reminder of that fear she had received in the form of Reinn days before.  She had never spoken of her past.  Galmar could not know that a home was something she had never had - that the word pierced through the armor Ashildr had built up around herself like an arrow straight to her heart.

Galmar watched her unperturbed, his grey eyes searching as if they really could poke and prod into those deep places inside of her.  Ashildr turned her face away reflexively to protect herself. There were so many things hidden inside of her that she reserved only for her own inner gaze - and even then only sparingly - and she could not bear the idea of anyone seeing her for what she truly was.  Especially the man in front of her.

Thunder growled overhead and the tent rocked slightly in a gust of wind as a fresh wave of the storm rolled in. The splatter of rain around them became a constant battering drone.  Ashildr tried to concentrate on the sound and not on the housecarl as she forced herself to settle, taking a few deep and slow breaths.

"You may be right," she replied, trying – and failing, she knew – to sound dispassionate. "Ulfric still thinks I might be useful here. There are worse places I could settle down. I know what you want.  But I'm a vagabond.  Wild.  Always have been, always will be - and I don't think you'd care for that in a wife once the charm had worn off."

"You don't know what I care for in a wife," Galmar replied calmly, his eyes glittering from under his heavy blond brow with both humor and, yes, desire. "But you could easily find out."

The alternation between soul-scouring observation and this heavy handed seduction was too much for Ashildr to bear. She felt her grip loosening on the soft animal inside of her - hungry for warmth, human contact, lust, and love.  She could feeling it waking, scrabbling for release, and flinging itself against the inside of her skin with increasing force. Galmar, looking at her very much now as if he had a beast of his own within, was the quarry that it wanted.

"It's been a long day," she said finally, wrapping up the remains of her bread and cheese for later and rising to her feet with a stiff grunt. She felt that if she stayed still a moment longer, something that they could not afford was going to happen.  Something that could not be taken back. "I'm going to turn in and catch an extra hour's sleep."

Galmar hefted himself to his feet more easily than most men of his size and age. The tent was really just big enough for two soldiers and their gear, though, being an officer's tent it was more spacious than what many of the footsoldiers were sleeping in tonight. A tall man could stand in the center by the ridge pole and extend his arms most of the way upward before touching canvas, but the slope of the roof was steep and that meant that Ashildr found herself standing far closer than she had intended - alarmingly close - to Galmar now. The scent of horses and leather and the undefinable tang of maleness that rose from his skin ignited a spike of electricity through Ashildr's nerves, spreading out across her neck, shoulders, and down into her belly. She stared into his eyes, paralyzed as if by a mage’s spell, her breath catching.

He stepped in towards her, his hands slipping onto her shoulders, warm on her skin through her under tunic.  She did nothing to stop it, even when he leaned towards her to kiss her brow, wrapping another hand across her cheek as he did so.  Of course. Their bargain. The touch of his lips on her forehead burned there as if he had laid a hot iron on it, though the lightning bolt of sensation that shot down her spine was something other than pain. Ashildr felt her lips part slightly of their own volition at the intensity of the feeling, though no words of either protest or encouragement were forthcoming. Galmar paused there, his thumb caressing her cheek, his scruffy chin pressed against her brow, so close that she swore she could hear the soft thump of his heart merging in into the pounding of her own.  She felt the hand that was on her shoulder slide up her neck, sending chills down her body.

"You know, you were asleep the other night when I came in," he told her, his voice a different kind of growl now, low and warm. "I think you might owe me another kiss. If we're being fair to our deal."

The intimation made Ashildr feel as if her body were trying to spring in eight different directions at once – both away from Galmar and towards him at the same time.  Even as she wanted to drag herself back from the brink of this terrifying cliff face, there was nothing she wanted more than to fling her body out into empty space and fly, if she could.

 _No, no, no,_ a chorus of warning voices were shouting in her head, but above them all the quieter, primal, insistent urge whispered _yes._

"I always keep my word," she replied, her voice nearly a whisper.

Standing this close to him, she could not see his eyes unless she looked up, but she saw the curve of his mouth turn up at the corner. She felt his fingers lace into her hair, cupping her cheeks.  She smelled the hint of the ale they had drunk on his breath as he leaned down, and she became acutely aware of the firm pressure of his chest against her breasts, separated only by two thin layers of cloth. He hovered there, between restraint and abandon, as if he were gauging her response.  It was too much.

 _Hang it all_ , she thought as she kissed him, furiously.  Her arms twined around his neck as he responded in kind, gripping her with equal brio. All sound around her seemed to cease. If the rain was still falling, if there was anything outside the feel of his arms and the grasping, urgent passion that seemed about to take over her body entirely, Ashildr was entirely unaware of it.

The embrace had moved quickly beyond a mere kiss.  She gasped as his lips pressed to her neck, his hands running down her back to pull her tighter in to him. It was all happening too fast, but Ashildr was beyond caring.  Now that she had given in to this, there was no room to pull back the fury of her need for it. She devoured him just as he was doing to her.  Her hands wound his shoulders, his back, his chest, pulling at his tunic and her own as they stumbled backwards together towards the bedrolls.

"Is this what you want?" Galmar panted, pulling back suddenly, steadying her to prevent her from tripping over the mats or the forgotten remains of dinner. 

His eyes flamed with raw want, but there was doubt there, too. His hands moved back to her cheeks, weaving into her mussed blonde hair again, and he tilted her chin up enough to look into her eyes. He needed to be sure, she realized, absolutely sure, before letting go.  In reply, she kissed him again deeply, urgently, wrapping her arms around him, pressing her smooth cheek against his rough one when finally they broke.

"Yes."  
  
And that was all that Galmar needed.

He helped her from her clothing and tossed his own away before drawing her down with him onto the bedrolls.  He snuffed the lantern and she let the thoughts and concerns that had plagued her for days dissolved along with the soft glow of the flame.  Nothing mattered any longer.  Not the war.  Not Ulfric.  In the darkness, Ashildr twined herself together with the man who was her husband, giving in to the wordless, writhing ecstasy of bodies kept too long apart.

For a time, everything but the universe inside of the tent winked out of existence and was gone.

~~0~~

 _I am the stupidest woman that has ever lived_ , Ashildr railed at herself, anxiously, as she trudged down the muddy main road of Dragonbridge towards the inn in the center of town.

As the weather looked to be clearing, Ulfric had decided to hold the column at Dragonbridge for the night to give the men time to prepare themselves after the slow, slogging march so that they could arrive in Solitude in finest form the next day. There were too many horses for the small stables in the town to hold and so some of them had to be picketed outdoors.  Ashildr's dappled grey was one of the unlucky ones and she had just come from seeing to its feed for the night.

The garrison town was bustling with activity as the townsfolk prepared to billet the soldiers and provide what food and services were required of them.  Ashildr noticed more than one look of resentment directed towards the inn ahead of her where Ulfric stood on the front porch.  She remembered that this had been a Legion outpost until just a few months ago.  The people were entitled to their grievances as long as they cooperated.  And they did.  Ulfric was going to have his work cut out for him here in Haafinger hold, though, that was certain. Ashildr was going to have her work cut out for her, too, helping him convince the skeptical and angry Imperial loyalists to keep the peace.  As tall an order as that was, however, it was the least of her problems now.

Galmar was standing on the front porch of the inn with Ulfric. She could see him smiling even from this distance and she watched with a sinking heart the expression changing to a bearish grin as he replied to some comment of Ulfric's.

 _He's happy_ , she thought.   _E_ _verything is just fine from where he's sitting at the moment._

He had not noticed her yet and Ashildr felt a strong urge to bolt in the opposite direction before he did. Galmar would come looking for her eventually, though. Especially after last night.

Last night.

 _Oh, gods,_ she thought, feeling her mouth go dry.

If it had been just one more spur of the moment knee-trembler in an army camp, it would have been nothing to raise a fuss about.  She tried to tell herself that that was all it was - just sating an urge that had long gone unsated.  That, however, was a lie and she knew it.

One unguarded moment.  In one moment, she had let her shield down enough for Galmar to slip through and now nothing could be the same again.  The memory of it made her heat inside, even as it made her want to run and hide herself somewhere where no one would ever see her again.  It wasn’t just her body that he had touched - though that he had done thoroughly and well - but something deeper, more hidden, and secret.  It had felt wonderful and it was terrifying and it was, she knew, completely impossible that it would last.  He would see her for what she was eventually.  Or he would try to make her into what he wanted her to be.  And she did not know which of those things would be worse.

 _I can't do this_ , Ashildr thought as she approached the inn, trying to keep her eyes on the imposing dragon head-ed bridge further along that gave the village its name rather than let them wander to Galmar.

All day long, as they rode through the rocky highland scrub of the Reach borderlands, she had grappled with the question of what would happen next. Galmar would certainly take last night as a reciprocation of whatever feeling he had for her, at last.  And wasn't it?  Just as she couldn't ignore him anymore, she couldn't ignore the feelings that he had pulled from her, but she didn't want to answer that question. Love was a weakness.  Love was a yoke about the neck.  It would get you killed.  It would drive you down to your knees harder than any blow from a mace.  She had resolved never to make that mistake.  She had let her resolve soften a little for Ulfric, but even Ulfric had used that small hold over her to manipulate her to his own purposes in the end.  Galmar could do the same.  If she let him have even an inch of her, she would never be her own person again.

But the alternative felt like a knife in the gut.  Last night had shown her what she had been missing in her life all of this time.  She had tried filling the emptiness at the core of her being with sex, with drink, with work, but nothing had fit until last night when she had lain, spent, in Galmar's arms.  Something had clicked into place then.  A sense of peace, of belonging – but it had thrown her fears into sharp relief, too. She would make a dreadful wife. She could never be good enough to deserve what she had felt with Galmar there in the darkness.  Not on her best day.

If she left, though, she would never see Galmar again.  Thinking of it hurt, but knowing that it would also hurt him made it worse.  Wasn't it better to make a clean break, though? Galmar was one of the toughest men that she had ever known. He would be angry, but maybe hating her would help him move on.  The longer she put it off, the harder it would be for both of them to break this bond.

From the porch, Galmar glanced in her direction then and noticed her approaching. She saw the lift in his expression as he smiled at her, happy to see her.  It broke her heart.  If Ashildr could have burrowed into the muck beneath her feet, never to be seen again, she would have done so right at that moment.

 _Finish it_ , Ashildr told herself, gritting her teeth. _The sooner you get it over with, finally, once and for all, the better._    _Tonight._

At the very last moment before she reached the inn, though, her nerve deserted her and she banked sharply off of the road to cut through the inn's kitchen yard to the other fork of Dragonbridge's high street beyond.

 _Not just yet_ , she thought to herself, though she lambasted herself up and down for her cowardice under her breath as she stomped down the path, scattering chickens in her wake.   _I need time.  Time to think._

A voice called her name as she reached the back of the in and Ashildr turned, feeling the blood draining from her as she saw Galmar rounding the corner of the building and striding after her. Her heartbeat begin to quicken as he approached, as if she were about to be beset by an enemy unprepared.

 _He's not my enemy,_ she thought, noting the puzzled expression on the housecarl's scruffy face as he searched her own for clues, and feeling even more guilty. _I'm the villain in this story_.

Galmar slowed as he neared her, his guard up as he noted her expression. Ashildr turned half away, waiting, unwilling to look at him too closely. One careless glance into his eyes and she feared she might lose her resolve again.  It would only prolong the misery. Finally, it was Galmar who spoke.

"You're avoiding me again. Why?"  
  
His tone was cautious, but there was an undercurrent of concern there.

"I'm not," she began, too defensively she knew.  His brow lowered in disbelief at the obvious lie. She sighed, putting on the calmest tone she could muster under the circumstances. "I have things to do, Galmar. We'll talk later.  Alright?"

"No, it's not alright," he grunted, but he softened his tone, taking another step towards her.  "You're upset. I'd rather talk now. Whatever it is can wait a few more minutes."

"No. It can't," she snapped back at him, getting angry now that he could not just let it go.  Instantly, she regretted it. None of this was his fault, really. She shouldn't be taking it out on him.

 _E_ _verything I say and do comes out wrong_. 

She shook her head, drawing backwards away from him.

“I don't want to fight right now. Just leave me be for awhile. Please."

His expression, which had hardened slightly at the bite in her voice, changed once again into greater concern at the uncharacteristically civil " _please"._

"Something's bothering you," he observed, closing the distance she had put between them. "Let me help."

He reached out a hand as he neared her to brush along her cheek, offering the familiar comfort of a lover, but the intimacy of that gesture was too much for Ashildr.  She pulled away, closing her eyes and bowing her head so that she would not have to see his face.  Or so that he would not have to see hers.  Her lungs were burning.  Her eyes were beginning to sting. 

_Get a grip,_ she snarled at herself mentally, but she knew that the only thing that could stop the impending sordid scene was to get away from him as quickly as possible.

Galmar was staring at her now with a steadily growing frown, she saw when she dared to glance up at him. He was rough by nature, but it was a controlled roughness for all of that. He could bring out his temper when necessary, though even his rages were carefully measured most of the time. She had seen it often enough in the war camps, when he was dressing down another officer or soldier. But she could see something else happening now in his face, and she didn’t want to be there when it broke.

"This is about last night?" he asked, cannily, after the uncomfortable pause. "I can't think of anything else that you'd be this worked up over."

When she didn't reply, because she could not find the words and because her throat refused to shape the sounds of what she knew she would have to say to finish all of this, he scowled.

"You gave me your word that if you had something to say to me, you'd say it. Spit it out, Dragonborn."

 _Not now_ , _not yet,_ Ashildr thought, trying to find anything else she could say that would sound convincing and allow her to escape. But would it be any easier later? At last _,_  she took a deep breath, closed her eyes for a moment to try and still the vertiginous, gut-wrenching sensation of teetering on the brink of disaster, and then let it go.

"I think I gave you the wrong impression last night."

There was a thunderous silence. Even the birds and squirrels in the trees seemed to hold their breaths as the world grew eerily quiet. The only sound Ashildr could hear was the war-drum thump of her pulse in her ears and she was oblivious of everything else but Galmar, his expression turning cold and angry in front of her eyes.

"That so?" he asked, tersely,  

If she had thought there was a chance in Oblivion that he wouldn't have followed her, Ashildr would have turned and pelted off down the road right then and there. But it was over-time to have this done with. She sucked up her courage as best she could, and forced herself to shrug casually.

"Men and women in close quarters, Galmar. We've both seen it happen before. Ale, a rainstorm, some talk, and the next thing you know." She had to work hard not to grit her teeth against the bald-faced lie. "Look, it's fine. It's just something that happened.  Don’t read too much into it."

For just a moment, as his eyes flashed and she saw the flush of rage creep up his face, Ashildr thought that he might actually lash out at her. She didn't step back. If he did, she would deserve it.  One more pain was nothing to her now, and it might make it easier for him in the end.

He sucked in a deep breath and looked away for a moment, seeming to try and collect himself and then grated out between clenched teeth at last:

"That's the best you can come up with, is it?"

"I'm-" she started, but he cut her off. She stumbled back half a step in surprise as he moved towards her, stabbing a finger at her.

"No," he barked. His voice came low and angry and fast, the words clearly enunciated so that there could be no confusion in meaning. Each one might as well have been a kick in the gut. "I can tolerate a lot from the people that matter to me. But I will be _damned_ , Ashildr, if I stand here and listen to you lie to my face about _this_."

She had expected this, had wanted to give him the opportunity to roar at her if he needed to, but the bitterness and anger in his voice and the enraged hurt in his face hit her hard and deep and worse than she could have imagined.  It was too much.  She had suffered wounds from every kind of weapon imaginable and she had taken those in stride.  But his pain – what she was doing to him – was a wound so deep that no healer could ever fix it.

"I should go," she told him, pulling back, but Galmar caught her arm in a grip like an iron band before she could turn away and he jerked her back.  She was too surprised and aggrieved to resist.

"No, you damned well won't. You're always shutting me out or running away right when we're about to get to the meat of things, and this time you're going to stand and face it," he snapped at her. When she did not move to extricate herself, he stepped in, leaning close to her until his face was mere inches from her own. "I _know_ the difference between a quick rutt in camp to take the edge off and what happened with us last night.  I know that you do, too.  I saw it in your face then. I can see it in your face now. Tell me you don't want me or that you don't think you can be happy with me. Tell me to go hang, if you feel like it. That'd be like you. But don't try to pretend that it was _nothing_. I deserve better than that from you."

His gaze was scorching.  His grip was tight on her arm.  She did nothing to resist it.  There was no defense for this, because he was right.  He was right, but she could not find the words to tell him the real reason.

"You don't understand," she whispered, hoarsely.  She was on the verge of tears now, but she no longer cared.  She had bollocksed it all up already.  Why not complete the humiliation and cry about it?

Galmar released her arm, standing back a little.  Ashildr crossed her them over her chest, quickly, to hide the fact that her shoulders were beginning to tremble.  He shook his head.

"I understand more than you want me to. If you wanted to leave, you'd be gone already. You'd have told me to take a short walk through Oblivion's Gates long ago. I know you better than you think, and I'm still here. And you're still here. And that means something, but you're too bull-headed and determined not to see it."

A paroxysm of frustration overcame him then, the sum of all his exasperation and anger coming to a head, and he uttered a strangled growl as he stamped his thick boot in the dirt with a furious curse.

"Damn it, woman.  Would it kill you just to give over this once and let someone love you?"

The instant after the word "love" left his mouth, Ashildr saw Galmar's expression freeze and then go guarded. He turned sharply away from her, pacing a couple of steps like an angry bear before turning back to glare at her.  He hadn't meant to say it, she realized, and now it was clear that he thought he had revealed too much at the wrong moment.

 _He loves me_ , she thought, the words sounding strange to her ears. He had hinted at it back in Windhelm, but it was different to actually hear him say the words. When had anyone ever told her that they loved her?  Her mother had run off too early for that.  After her mother, her father was too hardened by bitterness and constant fighting to ever let that word pass his lips. She hadn't heard it from any of her comrades in arms, either, even the ones she had bled with and fought next to and held while they were dying. Not from any of the short term bedfellows that she had had, certainly. And yet here was Galmar, without guile or subterfuge, admitting it and then recoiling as if she might throw the word back in his face with a curse.  The thought of the demons that must be jeering at him in _his_  head silenced her own.

 _What could it possibly hurt now?_ Ashildr thought, defeated.  She nodded, sighing.

"You're right," she admitted. Galmar did not move, but she could sense his surprise. "Last night wasn't nothing. It mattered. You're not nothing.  I shouldn’t have said otherwise, but it doesn't change anything, Galmar, even so."

"Why?" he fumbled, blind-sided and faltering.

"How many reasons do you need?” she asked, snorting a derisive laugh. She gestured weakly at herself. “Look at me.  Imagine me trying to keep your house for the rest of our lives.  Imagine me as the mother of your children.  I can’t do it. I'm ornery and coarse.  I get nervous if I stay in one place for too long.  I can't go a fortnight without wanting to be back out there, fighting.  The only thing I know how to do well is fight. I'm good at it.  It’s all I'm good for."

"That's not true," he began, and she barked a hollow laugh at him, cutting him off.

"Alright, I'm good for a few things, then. I can fight.  I can kill a man at sixty paces with my voice alone.  I swear like some people recite poetry.  I can drink most people under the table on a bad day. I'm quite the catch," she told him, and shook her head at him, willing him to understand. "I'd end up hurting you, whether I wanted to or not. You'd end up hurting me, too.  It’s the way of things.  I have enough on my conscience to live with, don’t make me add ruining your life to the list.  I like you well enough, Galmar.  Too much.  I could fall for you, if that's what you need to hear. Let's just call it a day before we spoil it."

For a moment, he said nothing.  She expected Galmar shout at her, to turn and stalk away, cursing that he'd ever met her.  She was prepared for that.  Instead, he stepped towards her and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pulling her into a tight embrace that endured until she felt a few long-denied tears begin to spill down her face at last.  Ashildr let her cheek fall against the rough bear-fur mantle on his shoulder, breathing out a ragged breath as he hugged her tighter, moving so that his lips were pressed against her temple.

"All I want - all I've wanted - is you," he murmured. "I'm not a man for a soft woman to handle. I've had thirty years to find someone that I thought could put up with me - and I married you.  A sharp-tongued fighting woman with death in her hands and her Voice.  No one else would do. Talos strike me if I ever try to change you into anything else. I would never hurt you. And I would kill anyone who tried with my bare hands."

"Even Ulfric?” she asked, pulling back slightly, though not out of his arms, as  she brush the tears from her face.  “I know why this marriage was set up.  He didn't say it, but I know what would have happened if I hadn't agreed in the end."

"You let me deal with Ulfric, if it ever comes to that,” Galmar told her, gruffly, and she saw his expression twist as if remembering something troublesome.  “And it won't. I settled that when the arrangement was struck.  It was his council that was pushing the issue, not Ulfric himself. They'll regret it if they ever try to pull a stunt like that again."

His fingers curled around the back of her neck as he slid his hand up into her hair.  His thumb brushing across a damp tear trail on her cheek. Galmar's face took on the earnest expression of a man unused to asking anyone for anything, and who nevertheless found himself entreating.

"If you think you can love me, stay with me.  That's all I ask.  You trusted me enough to fight at my back in the war. I never let you down then. Trust me now."

For a few moments, the only thing Ashildr could do was stand there, eyes closing tight as she felt the warmth of his palms on her cheeks and the closeness of his body. The feel of him, as it had been last night, was comforting despite the fact that they had been arguing bitterly not moments before.

 _It will never work_ , a part of her said.

But another part replied:  _I_ _f it could ever work with any man, this is that man._

"Alright," she assented, finally, and felt Galmar lean his forehead against hers briefly in relief, before kissing her nose and cheek and stroking her hair out of her face.

"Come on," he said, taking her hand as he turned back to walk towards the front of the inn. Ashildr allowed him to lead her, numbly. "Right now, there's a warm dinner to be had and a real bed to be slept in tonight. That's enough for now. We can pick up where we left off once all this business is over with."

 _Where we left off_ , Ashildr thought, as they turned back out onto the road and closed the twenty feet to the inn porch. The soft evening light was falling around them, casting shadows through the dark pine trees that dotted the hills around the village. She could hear a bard playing inside the inn, and knew that there would be food and fire and a great deal of expectant merriment about tomorrow's procession. And later she would sleep next to the man who, now, was her husband in truth rather than the man she was bound to for political convenience.

 _Please, don't let this be a mistake_ , she prayed, not caring which deity might hear it, and she followed Galmar into the inn to begin the rest of her life.

~~0~~

The walls of Solitude felt packed to the brim with people. In addition to the citizenry, there were the Imperial prisoners, the enormous garrison of Stormcloaks that had been left to protect and keep the peace in the city, travelers who had come to see the spectacle, and the retinues of every Jarl in Skyrim. Finding a table in the Winking Skeever was impossible. Not that Ashildr had much time for drinking or relaxation. She followed Ulfric like a ghost through his various meetings and ordeals, lending the Dragonborn's tacit approval to his suit for the throne. The Jarls, mostly Ulfric's old time supporters now, were jubilant and no one doubted that the Moot would take an extraordinarily short time to complete. Everyone knew already who was in charge of Skyrim.

Elisif herself was as beautiful as ever, but paler, more distant, and somber. She welcomed Ulfric to the Blue Palace with courtesy befitting a woman welcoming her bridegroom, but Ashildr could see, in moments where the girl thought no one was looking, the crawling distaste that the former and future Queen had for her soon-to-be husband. Her expression, when turned to Ashildr, was especially cold.

 _I don't blame you_ , Ashildr thought, and kept her peace. There was nothing to be gained by kicking a woman who already had more than enough personal tragedy to face.

Her own situation, too, was steadily improving. Once she stopped pushing him away, Asildr began to realize how well she and Galmar did suit each other.  A side of him began to emerge when they were alone in their room together that she had never observed in him before.  He was not like Ulfric.  He couldn’t put his feelings easily into words to inspire or seduce, but he talked to her of other things.  Tactics.  The days when he and Ulfric had been boys in Windhelm.  The battles that he had fought in the Great War.  He shared his life with her and she, her trust in him bolstered by his trust in her, began to share hers with him.  And at last a day came when Ashildr knew that she would not leave Ulfric's court after all. Not for Ulfric's sake, but for Galmar's.  And because, for perhaps the first time in her life, she was truly happy where she was.

The Moot, as expected, took less than a day to complete and Ulfric was proclaimed High King of Skyrim. A week of celebration ensued, though what the city populace lacked in enthusiasm was more than made up for by the Stormcloak troops. Ulfric's first act was to restore the shrine of Talos to its proper place in the Great Temple, which mollified some of the more traditional Nords who had been on the fence. In the time between the siege of Solitude and the Moot, the Thalmor embassy had been razed to the ground, the ambassador and her entire entourage disappeared or killed, and so there was no one to raise a public outcry. The only thing left before the long journey back to Windhelm for the official coronation was the wedding ceremony.

The Great Temple was packed to bursting for the royal wedding and Ashildr felt sweat trickling down her skin and soaking her gambeson underneath her armor. Ulfric awaited his bride with a stoic expression, and Ashildr couldn't help exchanging a knowing glance with Galmar as Elisif began her procession up the aisle. It was an ironically familiar sight for both of them, and Ashildr would have found the parallel amusing if it wasn't for the bloodless and defeated look on the the younger woman's face.

The ceremony dragged on joylessly for far too long as the priestess droned the traditional words. It couldn't have been more clear that the two people standing before the crowd of witnesses despised each other, though both conducted themselves with all of the civility and courtliness of their respective ranks. The wedding feast was little better. Ulfric and Elisif sat next to each other during the feasting and the songs and dancing, both resplendent in their wedding attire, both looking as regal as it was possible to be, without a glance or a word passing between them the entire time.

"Well, that was depressing," Ashildr muttered to Galmar later, once they had seen the newlyweds off to the bridal chamber and were returning to their own room.

"I wouldn't be in Ulfric's shoes tonight for my weight in gold," Galmar grunted, and shook his head. "I told him it was a foolish idea."

"Makes you feel fortunate, doesn't it?" she replied and saw him glance at her, an eyebrow raised.  Ashildr smiled and nudged him gently.  "Well, maybe not you.  You’re married to a Dragonborn with a pedigree for stubbornness.  But me – I think I got the best out of this arrangement."

The housecarl grinned at her and Ashildr felt his hand find hers, twining their fingers together as they walked the last few paces to their room.

"There's just the one thing," she continued, with a mock sigh as he opened the door, holding it for her.

"What's that?"

Ashildr stopped in the doorway, trying to keep the smile off of her face as she looked up at him with an exaggerated fake scowl.

"I'm related to your clod-brained brother now.  I can’t believe it."

He laughed at that and they entered the room together, where Galmar spent some time vigorously making it up to her while Ashildr reflected that, as gifts went, he was the best she had ever received.


End file.
